LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

Gl  FT    OF 


n 

Class 


Poems  and  Translations 


Poems    and    Translations 


By 


Frederic  Rowland  Marvin 


Pafraets  Book  Company 

Troy,  New  York 

1907 


COPYRIGHT,  1907 

BY 
FREDERIC  ROWLAND  MARVIN 


To  my  Dear  Wife 

In  whose  Pure  Love  and  Noble  Companionship 

I  have  found  Gladness  of  Life 

And  Inspiration  for  Labor 

I    Dedicate    this    Book 


in 


164778 


PREFATORY  NOTE 

IN  this  little  book  the  author  has  collected  all 
of  his  poetical  compositions  which  he  desires  to 
have  preserved.  These  verses  represent  no  great 
ambition,  and  would  never  have  been  brought 
together  "  between  covers  "  had  not  other  books 
from  the  same  pen  been  received  by  the  reading 
world  with  a  kindness  and  appreciation  much 
beyond  the  expectation  of  the  author.  It  may 
be  some  will  miss  a  poem  or  two  long  years  ago 
cut  from  a  magazine  and  transferred  to  a  scrap- 
book,  or  otherwise  preserved;  some  may  find 
here  and  there  a  verse  they  would  have  omitted; 
more  may  not  greatly  interest  themselves  in  the 
matter  one  way  or  the  other,  reading  the  book, 
if  they  read  it  at  all,  to  fill  an  idle  hour  or  gratify 
a  passing  curiosity.  No  author  can  please  all 
readers,  or  satisfy  the  demands  of  every  critic; 
but  it  is  with  a  sincere  hope  that  these  verses 
may  be  of  service  to  his  fellow  men  and  a  source 
of  pleasure  to  many  readers,  that  the  author 
launches  his  book,  and  sends  it  forth  upon  its 
lonely  voyage  to  shores  of  which  neither  author 
nor  readers  can  have  much  knowledge. 

F.  R.  M. 


Go,  little  book, 

And  be  to  other  men 

What  thou  hast  been  to  me — 

Communion,  fellowship,  and  hope! 

Say  to  other  men: 

"In  these   brief  lines 

A  living  man  was  housed, 

And  here  he  breathed  desire  and  faith; 

Not  such  as  schools  and  chapels  teach, 

But  such  as  God  approves" 

Go,  little  book, 

And  rest  your  heart 

Against  some  heart  to  me  unknown, 

And  cry:   "Hail  brother!  evermore  to  you 

Glad  fellowship,  and  kindly  love, 

And  pleasant  journey  home! 


vn 


CONTENTS 


POEMS 

PAGE 

MARCUS  AURELIUS  AND  EPICTETUS  3 

"  SONGS  OF  INNOCENCE  "         .         .  4 

THE  SOUL      .....  5 

THE  IMMORTAL  GODS      .          .  7 

ETHER 

THE  DOWNWARD  GAZE   .          .         .  .  .         9 

THE  LION  OF  LUCERNE  .          .          .  .  10 

MY  EARTHLY  LOVE         ...  n 

"Tnou  KNOWEST"         .         ....  .       13 

THE  HOSPITAL  NURSE    .         .         .  .  14 

To  A  BIRD     .          ...          .  .  17 

THE  OPEN  DOOR    .         ...  .  19 

How  TO  REMAIN  YOUNG         ....       20 

BURIAL  HILL           .                   .          .  .21 

THE  SECRET  OF  THE  STARS     .  '       .  .  23 

INFINITE  PRESENCE         .          .          .  .  25 

FATE     <'.'         .         .         .          .          .  .  26 

BRAHMA'S  CUP       .          ,          .*  .  27 

Isis        .          .          .         .         .         .  .  •       28 

CLEOPATRA'S  MUMMY      .         .         .  .  .       29 

LOVE      .   .      .         .         .         .         .  .  .       32 

LOVE'S  METEMPSYCHOSIS          .          .  .  .       33 

THE  TEST  OF  LOVE         .         .         .  .  .       35 

WILD  ROSE   .       ,  .         .         .         .  .  .       36 

LILIES  FOR  ROSALIE        .         .         .  .  .       37 

KINDNESS       ..       -         .         .         .  .  .       38 


x  Contents 

PAGE 

THE  VIVISECTOR     .         .         .                   •         •  39 

DUST  TO  DUST       .         .         .                            .  43 

MODERN  SPIRITUALISM    .         *         .        ..        :.  44 

MATERIALISM 45 

TRANSCENDENTALISM       .....  46 

THE  SAFEST  CREED         .....  47 

ASPIRATION  .          <         .         ...         .         .  48 

BERKLEY  CHURCHYARD   .         .         .-•  I               .  49 

THE  DAISY   .         .         .         .         .         .        V  59 

THE  NEW  AGE     '  .         .         .         .         .         .  60 

A  MODERN  PREACHER  .           .         .         .         .  62 

THEOLOGICAL  EXPERTS    .         .         .         .       .  .  63 

EVERLASTING  TRIFLES     .         .         .         .         .  65 

VANITY          .         .         .         .                   /        .  66 

ON  THE  REMOVAL  OF  THE  REMAINS  OF  CALDERON  67 

FIGHTERS  GRAVE     .         .         .         .         .         .  68 

WORSHIP        .         .         .         .         .         .         • '  7° 

SPINOZA          .         .         .         .  .       .         .         .  71 

GOD       .         .         .         .         .         .        , .         .  72 

FAME    .         .         .         .         .  .         -73 

BE  STILL  AND  WAIT       .         .         .         .         .  74 

THE  RULE  OF  LIFE         .         .         .         •         •  75 
REVERIE          .         .                          -.         .         -76 

ONLY  A  WORD        .         .         .         .         .  78 

To  ONE  ABOUT  TO  DIE  .         .         .         .         .  79 

"  USE  WELL  THE  PASSING  HOUR  "  .         .         .  80 

THE  SECRET  KNOWLEDGE        ....  82 

VIRGILII  CARMINA  .         .         .          .         .84 

FOLLOW  THE  LIGHT        .         .         .         .         .86 

AT  THE  TOMB  OF  SENANCOUR          ...  87 
THE  IMPRISONED  SOUL  .                   .         .         .89 

"  SIGH  NOT  A  VANISHED  PAST  "                 .         . '  90 

HAFIZ    . 91 

SOMEWHERE            ......  93 


Contents  xi 

PAGE 

THALIA          .         .  v     94 

THE  FAR  HORIZON         .  .                         95 

PRAYER  FOR  STRENGTH   .  .100 

QUIET  POWER         .         .         .  •         -         •     IO1 

IN  ARA  COJLI         .         .  -     IO2 

TRUST             .  •     I03 

MADONNA      T         ,  •     IO4 

FREEDOM        .                   .         .  .         •     IO5 

DESCENT  OF  THE  SPIRIT          .  .     106 

THE  REAL  CHRIST           .         .  .                   .107 

AT  THE  LORD'S  TABLE   .         .  •     108 

AGE  .  .-,'.  .  •  .  .  109 
"  WATCHMAN,  WHAT  OF  THE  NIGHT?"  .  .  in 
"  COULD  WE  BUT  TRUST  His  CONSTANT  CARE  "  .  112 

THE  POET  TO  THE  YOUTH        .  .                   •     I][3 

ONE                .      '-'„  •     IJ4 

THE  EVENING  OF  THE  LORD'S  DAY  .                   .     115 

COMRADESHIP          .         .         .  .116 

TRUTH            .         .         .         .  -  .               117 

AFTER  A  FRUITLESS  ARGUMENT  .                   .118 

COMMON  SENSE    ...  .119 

I  REMEMBER           .         .         •  •         -         •     I2° 

THE  GOLDEN  HOUR         ....  •     I22 

TRAGEDY         ....  .     I23 

THE  DEATH  PENALTY     .          .  *  .                   .124 

THE  HERO     .         .         .         •  •                   •     I25 

LINES    .         .         .  -     I27 

FORGIVENESS  .  ..129 
QUATRAINS  : 

Here  and  Now         .          .  .13° 

Passion    .       .   ,          .          .  .13° 

The  Uselessness  of  Wrangling  .  .13° 

A  Selfish  Heart         .          .  .130 

Friendship        .          .          .  •          •         •     13T 


xii  Contents 

PAGE 

Choice      .          »          *         .  .  .  .      131 

Youth  and  Age         .          .  .  131 

Life          .          .          .          .  .  .  y.      131 

Church  and  State     .          .  .  .  .131 

The  Inner  Worship  .          .  .  .  .132 

"How  do  Cherries  Taste?"  .  .  .      132 

Why? 132 

AUF  WlEDERSEHEN  .  ..  .  .  •        J33 


TRANSLATIONS. 

THE  SONG  OF  THE   SPIRIT  OVER  THE   WATERS, 

Goethe     .         .         «         .          .          ,  .      137 

THE  BOUNDARIES  OF  HUMANITY,  Goethe  .  .     139 

THE  MASON'S  LODGE,  Goethe  .         i         .  .     141 

To  THE  HUSBANDMAN,  Goethe         • .         .  \r    143 

THE  EAGLE  AND  THE  DOVE,  Goethe          .  .     144 

HUMANITY,  Kinkel          .         .          .          .  .     147 

LILY  AND  ROSE,  Herder  .          .                -J  .  149 

THE  PALM,  Heine           .         .                   .  .150 

FAITH,  Victor  Hugo        .         .         .          .  151 

THE  WHISTLING  DAUGHTER,  Prom  the  Dutch  .     152 

SONG  OF  THE   WANDERING   KNIGHT,   From  the 

Spanish          .  .          .          .          .          .  153 

ON     MICHAEL    ANGELO'S    STATUE    OF    NIGHT, 

Italian     .         .          .         .          .         .  154 

CHRISTMAS  CAROL,  From  the  Italian          .  155 

To  A  FALSE  LADY,  From  the  Italian           .  .156 

UNDER  A  WINGED  CUPID,  Greek  Anthology  .     157 

THE  PRAYER  OF  A  PERSIAN      .         .         .  .158 

RENUNCIATION,  From  the  Sanscrit  .          .  159 

THE  HOUSE  OF  GOD,  From  the  Persian     .  .160 

THE  CHOICE  OF  FRIENDS,  Saadi       .          .  .161 


Contents  xiii 

PAGE 

IMMORTAL  YOUTH,  Khushhal  Khan  of  the  Afghan 

Tribe  of  Khattok  .  .  .  .  .162 

A  MOTHER'S  LAMENT  FOR  HER  DROWNED  SON, 

From  the  Greenlandic  .  .  .  .163 


POEMS 


v 


MARCUS  AURELIUS  AND  EPICTETUS 

TWIN  stars,  serene  and  pure, 
In  the  fear-haunted  gloom 
Of  the  wild  pagan  night, — 
So  long,  so  long  ago! 
In  royal  purple  one, 
Philosopher  and  saint, 
With  words  divinely  wise; 
The  other  but  a  slave, 
Yet  monarch  still  who  ruled 
The  godlike  minds  of  men. 
Alone,  undimmed,  they  burned 
Above  a  world  of  doom, 
Until  the  morning-red 
Flamed  crimson  in  the  east, 
And  the  ascending  dawn 
Of  an  immortal  Christ 
Filled  the  blue  heavens  with  light. 


"  SONGS  OF  INNOCENCE  " 

WILD  flowers  by  the  hedge-row, 
Clover,  and  daisy,  and  spurge; 
Buttercups,  golden,  aglow, 
With  hearts  full  of  sunlight  and  cheer; 
The  oak,  the  elm,  and  the  maple, 
The  tangle  of  forest  and  brake; 
The  song  of  the  brook  in  the  meadow; 
And  the  silver  repose  of  the  lake; 
The  lowing  of  kine  on  the  lea; 
The  twitter  of  birds,  and  the  ceaseless 
Sweet  hum  of  the  bee; 
The  heat  of  summer  at  noon-day; 
And  the  cool  refreshment  of  rain, 
As  showers  descend  on  the  woodland, 
The  grass,  and  the  heavy  ripe  grain. 

Ah  Blake,  in  thy  pages  forever 

The  sun  and  the  storm  have  their  home. 

Nature  is  one  with  thy  singing, 

The  flowers  in  thy  verses  are  springing, 

And  harvest  and  winter  are  thine. 

But  the  joy  of  thy  rhyme  and  thy  measure, 

And  the  song  of  thy  soul,  they  are  mine. 


THE  SOUL 


Ka\  dvSpatKou  YS  V//UP7,  einep  rt    ttat    aMo  rutv 
TOO  Betou  jjLerei.  —  Xenophon. 


THE  Soul  is  its  own  destiny: 
Fate  is  the  Soul  in  motion: 
It  hath  nor  bound  of  space  nor  time; 
It  is  the  Infinite. 

Duration  that  doth  mock  all  measurement 
Becometh  conscious  —  is  the  everlasting  Soul. 
Time  is  a  cunning  fancy; 
The  immortal  gods 

Have  wrought  the  subtle  fabric  of  the  hours, 
To  blind  the  Soul  that  looketh  out 
On  its  immensity. 
But  all  in  vain: 

The  introverted  vision  gazes  on  infinity; 
Alone,  supreme,  the  Soul  forever  dwells. 
Empires  have  birth,  they  do  decay  and  die  ; 
Advancing  years,  like  phantoms, 
Sweep  forever  down  the  abyss  of  time 
And  slumber  on  the  bosom  of  Forgetfulness. 
Forever  falls  the  sand,  the  glass  is  never  empty, 
Fed  from  the  running  fingers  of  Eternity. 

5 


6  The  Soul 

The  sands  are  ages: 

Forever  weep  the  Klepsydrse; 

Their  tears  the  universal  grief  express, 

And  drop  into  the  bosom  of  Eternity. 

But  what  are  empires  and  the  endless  years 

Unto  the  Soul  that  holdeth  all! 

Behold  the  infinite,  far-shining,  everlasting  Soul — 

Behold  the  Human  Soul! 


THE  IMMORTAL  GODS 

THE  gods  can't  die,  poor  fellows, 
Endless  lives  are  theirs; 
On  clouds  they  loll  forever, 

And  hearken  to  our  prayers. 
They  shake  the  heavens  with  thunder, 

With  lighting  part  the  sky, 
And  curse  the  fate  that  made  them, 
And  will  not  let  them  die. 

The  earth  is  green  and  tender, 

The  ocean  cool  and  deep; 
'Neath  foamy  waves  and  waves  of  grass 

We  lay  us  down  to  sleep. 
The  gods  pursue  with  anger, 

From  cloud  to  cloud  they  leap, 
But  they  can  never  find  us 

When  we  are  gone  to  sleep. 


ETHER 

PURE  air  the  soul  demands, 
And  cloudless  light: 
Who  to  himself  can  say 
Bravely,  "Thou  must!" 
Austere  compulsion  turns 
To  sweet  delight; 
He  breathes  the  mountain-air 
Of  duty  loved, 
Nobly  obeyed. 
O'er  all  the  crystal  sphere, 
Radiant  above  him  springs 
From  the  rude  earth  below, 
Heaven's  dome  of  blue. 


THE  DOWNWARD  GAZE 

BEHOLD  the  earth,  if  thou  wouldst  see 
The  smile  creative  of  the  Lord; 
And,  speechless,  hearken  to  her  voice, 
If  thou  wouldst  hear  the  heavenly  word. 

The  downward  gaze  is  upward  still, 
The  inward  silence  sacred  song: 

The  heart  that  waits  in  love  for  God 
Shall  know  He  never  tarries  long. 


THE  LION  OF  LUCERNE 

WITH  equal  courage  soldier  and  commander 
fell; 

Why  were  not  all  recorded  name  by  name? 
The  stone  was  ample,  and  the  artist's  skill  was 

there, 
To  give  them,  great  and  small,  to  deathless  fame. 

Alas,  how  meagre  is  the  gratitude  we  yield 
To  humble  men  who  royal  service  give! 

We  little  care  that  silent  worth  unhonored  die, 
If  rank  and  title,  crowned  with  glory,  live. 


TO 


MY  EARTHLY  LOVE 

NO  dim  and  dreamy  ghost  I  sing, 
Nor  phantom  floating  in  the  air; 
To  one  who  treads  the  solid  earth, 

I  send  alike  my  song  and  prayer. 
To  perfect  matter  strong  and  sweet, 

The  face  and  form  of  her  I  love; 
The  matchless  speech  and  subtile  breath, 

And  eyelid  trembling  like  a  dove, — 
A  dove  within  an  earthly  nest, 

Who  hears  the  coming  of  her  mate, 
Or  feels  his  kiss  upon  her  breast, 

And  chides  him  that  he  comes  so  late. 

The  matchless  joy  of  sense  I  sing! — 

The  earthly  joy  of  here  and  now: 
Before  no  fading  ghost  I  kneel — 

Before  no  distant  future  bow. 
Go,  little  song,  and  seek  the  lips 

Of  her  who  waits  thee  with  a  kiss; 
And  tell  her,  only  in  her  arms 

Thy  poet-master  dreams  of  bliss. 
No  angel  seen  by  prophet  eye, 

Nor  shaped  by  art  with  peerless  grace, 
ii 


12  My  Earthly  Love 

With  feet  that  tread  the  azure  sky, 

And  roam  the  boundless  field  of  space, 

Is  half  so  true  or  sweetly  fair 

As  one  who  walks  with  me  apart: 

I  lose  me  in  her  shining  hair, — 
She  is  the  goddess  of  my  heart. 

O  Death,  so  like  a  stormy  cloud 

Within  a  gentle  summer  sky, 
Thou  lonely  phantom  sad  to  see, 

I  will  not  fear  thee  though  I  die! 
Go,  little  song,  to  her  I  love, 

And  tell  her  Death  is  in  the  air; 
It  is  his  shadow  on  the  world 

That  makes  the  present  moment  fair. 
We  have  one  hour  of  life  and  love, 

And  ages  filled  with  silent  sleep — 
There  is  no  time  for  Faith  to  pray, 

Nor  time  for  sullen  Grief  to  weep. 
Go,  tell  her  if  we  love  not  now, 

The  life  we  live  is  only  death 
And  dust  that  have  no  joy  in  time, 

And  only  feed  on  bitter  breath. 


"THOU  KNOWEST" 

NEATH  Montparnasse's  sacred  shade  I  stand 
And  greet  whom  I  have  known  before, 
But  not,  as  in  the  days  of  yore, 
With  song  and  laughter  and  the  voice  of  praise. 
Alas,  the  bounding  pulse  and  flashing  eyes, 
And  motion  eloquent  of  swift  surprise, 
Are  dust  beneath  the  flowers  to-day! 
I  turn  to  read — the  name  and  little  else! 
What  could  the  lifeless  marble  say 
For  one  who  cast  herself  away? 
"  Thou  knowesi." 


THE  HOSPITAL  NURSE 

HOW  shall  I  know  when  I  am  dead?  " 
The  fever-stricken  patient  cried : 
Whispered  the  nurse :  "  I  cannot  say, 
For  I  have  neither  lived  nor  died. 

"  How  can  I  live  and  nurse  the  dead? 

How  die,  and  with  the  living  go? 
So  long  I've  wrought  a  single  task, 

I  nothing  else  can  think  or  know. 

"  From  ward  to  ward  I  glide  and  glide, 
And  breathe  the  ether-tainted  air; 

My  heart  is  dull,  mine  ears  are  filled 

With  sob,  and  curse,  and  wildered  prayer. 

"  The  surgeon's  knife  is  keen  and  true, 
The  doctor's  drugs  are  bitter  quite; 

And  round  and  round  forever  swing, 
In  equal  darkness,  day  and  night. 

"  Ah  me !  that  God  should  make  this  world, 
If  any  God  in  heaven  there  be ; 

Can  He  not  feel  His  creatures'  woe? 
Is  He  so  blind  He  cannot  see? 
14 


The  Hospital  Nurse  15 

"  Last  night  a  wounded  man  they  brought, 
The  mangled  flesh  they  cut  away; 

He  scarcely  breathed,  his  failing  pulse 
Ceased,  and  he  died  with  opening  day. 

"  Long  by  his  lifeless  form  I  stood, 
I  saw  them  lift  the  helpless  clay; 

The  same  old  duties  called  me  then, — 

Some  wound  to  dress,  some  throat  to  spray. 

"  Let  say  who  will  that  God  is  good ; — 

I  doubt  there  is  a  God  at  all; 
But  if  there  be  in  heaven  or  hell, 

He  cannot  hear  us  when  we  call. 

"  I  come  and  go,  and  do  my  work, 

With  kindly  thought,  and  kindly  deed; 

One  word  alone,  't  is  only  Help, 

Makes  all  the  substance  of  my  creed. 

"  But  it  is  earthly  Help,  and  lo, 

It  falls  not  from  the  heavens  above; 

It  dwells  within  the  human  heart, 
And  all  its  blessed  name  is  Love. 

"  I  have  been  down  to  hear  them  pray, 
Within  the  chapel  on  the  street; 

All  through  the  service  rich  and  strong, 
I  seemed  to  hear  the  word  Defeat. 


16  The  Hospital  Nurse 

"  A  silken  robe  the  preacher  wore, 
His  alb  and  chasuble  were  fine; 

And  in  his  face  there  was  a  look 
Of  dainty  meat,  and  costly  wine. 

"  He  was  no  bishop,  yet  he  had 

The  pride  and  pomp  that  bishops  wear; 

Smug  satisfaction  oiled  his  throat, 
But  lifted  not  my  load  of  care. 

"  And  as  I  left  the  House  of  Creed, 
A  beggar  hobbled  by  the  door; 

In  him  I  saw  the  groaning  world, 
And  I  could  never  worship  more. 

"  I  have  one  duty,  only  one, 

To  serve  with  heart,  and  hand,  and  brain 
The  race  He  loved  who  meekly  bore 

A  Golgotha  of  shame  and  pain. 

"  Dear  Christ,  whom  earthly  priests  deride, 
And  gilded  churches  mock  with  prayer, 

My  human  heart  looks  up  to  Thee, 
And  longs  Thy  blessed  work  to  share. 

"  And  if  there  be  no  God  above, 

Nor  any  God  on  land  or  sea, 
I  am  content  to  call  Thee  Lord, 

And  for  Thy  love  to  worship  Thee." 


TO  A  BIRD 

BIRD  upon  the  leafy  tree-top, 
'Mid  the  bending  buds  of  Spring, 
With  the  golden  sunlight  painted 
Strangely  on   thy  folded   wing, 

With  the  blue  of  heaven  entwined 
Round  thy  soft  and  slender  throat, 

Trembling  like  a  thing  affrighted, 
With  each  sweet  and  gentle  note — 

Bird  of  beauty,  free  and  happy, 
Singing  all  the  glad  day  long, 

Is  there  aught  of  wrong  or  sorrow 
In  thy  world  of  flowers  and  song? 

Are  there  dreams  of  years  departed, 
Hopes  that  come  not  back  again ; — 

Are  there  loves  that  fade  and  darken — 
Joys  that  vanish  into  pain? 

Tell  me  if  the  same  sweet  music 
Makes  thee  happy  all  thy  way, 
17 


1 8  To  a  Bird 

If  no  night  of  pain  or  sorrow 
Mar  the  blessedness  of  day. 


Not  a  word  to  me  thou  speakest 
Though  I  patient  wait,  and  long; 

Still  with  trembling  throat  thou  singest, 
While  I  listen  to  the  song. 


THE  OPEN  DOOR 

SEE,  little  bird, 
I  open  wide 
The  door  for  thee; 

Thou  mayest  glide 
On  waving  wing, 

And  gladly  sing, 
And  everywhere 
In  the  sweet  air 
Of  freedom  dwell. 

I  too,  little  bird, 

Would  scape  my  cage; 
Would  fly  abroad 

E'er  frosty  age 
Hath  chilled  my  breath, 
And  dimmed  mine  eye; 
And  nought  but  death, 

In  field  and  sky, 
Awaits  my  song 


HOW  TO  REMAIN  YOUNG 

STRIVE  always  to  be  calm;  be  cheerful  and 
sleep  well; 

Delight  in  music;  much  with  little  children  dwell; 
With  moderation  eat;  salute  the  opening  day 
With  glad  "  Good  morning !  "  be  it  rosy  dawn  or 

gray; 

Thy  burdens  bravely  bear,  yet  make  thou  no  delay 
To  help  a  feeble  brother  all  the  rugged  way ; . 
Think  not  too   much   of  self;   nor  idly  fret  and 

grieve 
That   thou   must   all   earth's   wealth   and   beauty 

some  day  leave ; 

Trust  thou  in  God;  and  in  the  holy  footsteps  tread 
Of  those  who   live   forever,   though  men   count 

them  dead. 
Wise   as   the   serpent,   and   yet   harmless   as   the 

dove — 
Be  thou  like  Christ  in  heavenly  patience  and  in 

love. 


20 


BURIAL  HILL 

GONE  with  their  beautiful  faith, 
Their  wonder,  and  vision  divine, 
Are  the  men  of  our  Puritan  days, 
And  the  wives  and  mothers  of  old, — 
Each  grave  in  New  England's  a  shrine. 
The  living  still  echo  their  praise, 
But  hold  not  as  of  yore  their  belief; 
Strong  were  their  sermons  and  prayers, 
And  sweet  were  the  hymns  they  sung; 
But  the  fathers  are  dust  at  our  feet, 
The  voice  of  their  worship  is  still. 
I  hear  the  glad  carol  of  birds, 
And  the  song  of  the  wind  in  the  trees, 
As  they  heard  them  of  old  in  this  place; 
Yet  not  as  they  heard  them  I  hear, 
For  dead  are  the  wonder  and  fear 
That  made  the  forest  resound 
With  shout  of  battle  and  prayer. 
In  the  roar  of  the  sea  on  the  shore, 
The  voice  of  Jehovah  they  heard; 
They  beheld  Him  in  dreams  of  the  night, 
And  they  rose  in  the  pride  of  their  might, 

21 


22  Burial  Hill 

And  defied  all  the  world  in  His  name. 

Their  faith  was  a  rock  of  defense, 

Hard  as  the  flint  in  their  guns; 

Not  loveless,  but  stern  and  austere 

As  the  righteous  implacable  fate 

They  adored  in  the  God  whom  they  served. 

They  are  gone,  and  their  faith  is  no  more, — 

Its  beauty,  its  wonder,  its  love, 

Its  fear,  its  might,  and  despair; 

But  we,  their  children,  still  hold, 

Not  their  creed,  but  their  life  in  regard — 

We  honor  them  still  in  our  hearts. 

Here  lived,  and  sorrowed,  and  loved, 

The  men  of  those  Puritan  days ; 

And  here  'neath  our  feet  they  repose, 

Under  violet,  daisy,  and  vine, 

And  the  fragrant  and  trailing  wild  rose. 

Mingles  their  dust  with  the  dust 

Of  the  hills  and  valleys  they  knew; 

But  their  spirits  so  brave  and  devout, 

Ah,  who  shall  arise  to  declare, 

If  the  dream  of  their  worship  came  true? 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  STARS 

Wie  das  Gestirn, 

Ohne  Hast, 

Aber  ohne  Rast, 

Drehe  sich  jeder 

Urn  die  eigne  Last. — Goethe. 

AH  well !     If  it  were  so 
That  ever  we  might  go, 
Starwise,  in  silent  flight 
Through  the  encircling  night, 
With  neither  haste  nor  rest, 
Whether  in  East  or  West, 
In  North  or  South  aflame; 
Having  this  single  aim : 
Always  the  appointed  task 
To  perform,  and  not  to  ask 
Foreknowledge  of  our  fate. 

Wie  das  Gestirn — even  so! 
Summers  come  and  summers  go, 
Fragrant  flowers  and  drifting  snow, 
Empires  rise  and  empires  fall; 
These  can  not  disturb  at  all 
Draco's  eighty  flames  of  fire, 
23 


24          The  Secret  of  the  Stars 

Vega,  and  the  golden  Lyre. 
All  the  fret  of  our  brief  life, 
All  the  seeking  and  the  strife, 
What  we  hate  and  what  we  choose, 
What  we  win  and  what  we  lose — 
These,  how  poor  they  all  appear 
When  we  think  of  that  high  sphere 
Where  the  stars  burn  on  for  aye 
Through  the  vast  expanse  of  sky, 
Without  haste  and  without  rest, 
Ever  doing  each  its  best, 
At  its  own  appointed  work. 

Soul  of  man,  the  stars  above 
Speak  to  thee  of  our  great  love, 
Centred  in  no  misty  creed, 
But  interpreted  in  deed. 
List !  the  secret  now  they  tell : 
Do  thy  work,  and  do  it  well. 


INFINITE  PRESENCE 

ALIKE  Thou  art  in  stillness  and  in  storm; 
In  gentle  winds  that  woo  the  evening  star, 
And  welcome  the  descending  gloom  of  night 
With  song  of  forests  and  the  sounding  sea. 
Thou  art  in  flower  and  shrub ;  the  running  brook ; 
The  restful  silence  of  the  purple  hills; 
And  in  the  lowly  meadows  where  the  kine 
Repose  at  noon  beneath  th'  o'erhanging  boughs 
Of  oak  and  elm.     Afar  Thou  art  and  near; — 
In  distant  worlds,  and  in  th'  trembling  dew-drop, 
That  on  blushing  rose  doth  hang  a  jewel 
Fit  for  Paradise  above — too  pure  for  earth. 
Thou  art  in  ev'ry  thought  that  stirs  the  soul 
Of  saint  or  sage;  in  every  noble  deed; 
In  woman's  love;  and  in  the  voices  dear 
Of  little  children,  such  as  Jesus  held 
In  His  pure  arms,  and  pillowed  on  His  breast. 
And  this  poor  world  is  beautiful  because, 
Though  sin  and  shame  have  marred  its  grace,  it 

knows 
The  mighty  Love  that  changes  and  transforms. 


25 


FATE 


CEASE  your  spinning,  busy  Fate; 
I  am  weary  with  the  weight 
And  the  sorrow  of  my  state! 

Cut  the  silken  thread  in  twain; 
Let  the  robe  be  made  in  vain 
That  is  woven  from  my  pain. 

Let  forgetfulness  descend, 
Like  the  blessing  of  a  friend, 
On  the  sorrow  I  would  end. 

ii 

Bending  low,  she  gently  said: 
"  Nor  the  living  nor  the  dead 
Are  divided  from  my  thread. 

"  Only  take  the  pain  I  send, 
It  shall  teach  thee  like  a  friend, 
To  be  faithful  to  the  end: 

"  It  shall  teach  thee  to  be  strong, 
Patient  under  nameless  wrong, 
Turning  discord  into  song." 


26 


BRAHMA'S  CUP 

I  LIFT  the  cup  of  Brahma  high! — 
The  cup  and  liquor  both  are  his; 
That  flowing  draught  is  perfect  rest, 
For  Brahma's  self  the  liquor  is. 

Let  endless  kalpas  still  revolve, 

Who  quaffs,  no  grief  shall  e'er  befall; 

For  he  shall  dream  the  dream  of  God, 
And  never  know  he  dreams  at  all. 

My  transmigrating  days  are  o'er; 

God's  hand  presents  the  sacred  cup; 
I  eager  grasp  the  chalice  now, 

And  drink  the  Godhead's  liquor  up. 

And  while  the  sacred  wine  I  quaff, 
Two  souls  are  mingled  on  the  brim; 

I  drink  of  Brahma  in  the  cup, 
And  he  receives  me  into  him. 


ISIS 

I  am  all  that  has  been,  all  that  is  and  shall  ever  be :  no 
mortal  has  lifted  the  veil  from  my  face. —  Inscription  upon 
the  Temple  at  Sais. 

I  WAS  e'er  ancient  time  began — 
The  stars  are  young,  but  I  am  old; 
The  circling  ages  come  and  go, 
And  I  the  heaven  and  earth  enfold. 

I  am,  and  in  my  heart  I  clasp 

The  priceless  treasures  of  the  sea; 

I  spread  the  desert-sand  abroad, 

And  bade  the  sacred  Nile-stream  be. 

I  shall  abide  when  stars  are  gray, 

And  age  hath  dimmed  their  wonted  glow; 

No  mortal  lifts  the  veil  I  wear, 
And  none  my  hidden  glory  know. 


28 


CLEOPATRA'S  MUMMY 

British  Museum,  Case  No.  6807. 

AHEAP  of  crumbling  bones, 
Black  with  old  Egypt's  dust  and  grime; 
A  bit  of  shrivelled  skin; 
And  painted  cloth, 
Brittle  from  years, 
And  with  bitumen  stained. 

Was  it  for  these,   ambitious   Roman, 

Thou  the  lily  of  pure  wedded  love 

Didst  scorn  to  wear, 

That  so  upon  thy  perjured  heart 

Might  blush  the  crimson  passion-rose  of  sin? 

Draw  near!     Thy  hand  repose 

Upon  these  dark  and  pulseless  breasts, 

Hard  as  the  lava-stones, 

O'er  which  in  triumph  roll'd, 

All  drenched  in  blood, 

Thy  chariot  wheels, 

Whilst  shouting  Jiosts 

Rent  with  loud  acclaim, 

From  sea  to  sea, 

The  azure  heavens ! 

29 


3O  Cleopatra's  Mummy 

Once  were  these  crumbling  bones 

Clothed  in  a  woman's  beauty, 

More  fragrant  than  the  breath  of  incense 

Burned  where  tinkling  bells, 

And  crystal  fountains, 

Filled  with  gentle  music 

The  whispering  groves  of  fair  Dodona, 

And  the  pale-eyed  priestess 

Breathed  the  hallowed  air. 

Here  rests  the  dark-eyed  daughter  of  the  Nile, 

Who  nursed  on  golden  bed, 

The  sucking  asp. 

Draw  near,  thou  lover 

Whom  the  sweet-voiced  poets  laud! 

Enfold  with  throbbing  heart 

The  proud  lascivious  queen 

Of  all  thy  passion  and  desire, 

For  whom  thou  didst  despise 

The  fair  Octavia  in  her  Roman  home. 

Thou  wilt  not  come! 

The  lonely  shadows  deepen, 

And  from  English  sunset, 

Dull  and  gray  as  sea-blown  mists, 

Dies  the  last  flickering  beam, 

And  all  at  length  is  still. 

The  visitors  are  gone : 

The  doors  are  closed : 


Cleopatra's  Mummy  31 

The  daughter  of  great  Ptolemy, 

In  the  London-town, 

Slumbers  unconscious  of  her  shame. 


Where  are  the  Caesars, 
And  proud  Anthony  of  old? 
Their  warring  spirits  earth  defied, 
And  Heaven. 

But  now  the  meanest  weed 
That  on  forsaken  Actium's  field 
Blooms  for  the  dead, 
Need  fear  no  rude  alarm; 
The  armed  hosts  are  gone; 
Their  conflicts  all  are  ended, 
And  the  fury  of  their  wrath 
Is  stilled  forever. 


Draw  near — 

None  shall  thy  right  dispute! 

In  yonder  crystal  case, 

She  who  was  the  passion  and  despair 

Of  nobler  hearts  than  oft  have  ruled  the  world, 

Dishonored  lies — unloved ! 

Meanly  labelled  and  described 

For  vulgar  eyes  to  scan, 

Her  charms 

The  vilest  boor  may  view, 

And  count  himself 

More  fair  than  she. 


T 


LOVE 

IME  was  when  Love  was  bright  and  fair, 
Had  soft  blue  eyes  and  golden  hair. 


Time  was  when  Love  had  all  his  way, 
And  made  this  great  world  glad  and  gay. 

Time  was!     What  change  hath  come  to  men? 
Is  Love  not  strong  and  fair  as  then? 


LOVE'S  METEMPSYCHOSIS 

BRIEF  space  for  tears  and  prayers 
To  him  who  loves  and  dares 
The  high  gods  send; 
But  laughter-lighted  days, 
Through  all  life's  winding  ways, 
Unto  the  end. 

I  stand  beside  the  sea, 
And  salt  winds  cover  me 

With  spray. 

I  know  that  I  who  stand 
Betwixt  the  sea  and  land 

All  day, 

Shall  be  as  yellow  dust, 

Blown  here  and  there — 

Heaven's  winds  shall  carry  me, 
I  wist  not  where. 

But  this  one  thing  I  know, 

Where'er  my  dust  shall  blow, 

The  life  of  love  will  go. 
33 


34  Love's  Metempsychosis 

And  if  some  lily  spread 
Its  golden  heart  or  red 

Unto  the  sun; 
And  it  should  chance  to  be 
My  love  Eulalie, 
My  dust,  like  living  light 
Upon  the  wind's  white  wings, 
When  through  the  grove  she  sings, 
The  flower  would  find. 

Its  silver  stem  would  bend 
Until  its  shadow  fell 
Above  me  like  a  bell 
That  trembles  for  delight. 
The  perfume  of  its  breath 
Would  lift  me  out  of  death, 
And  lead  me  into  life. 


THE  TEST  OF  LOVE 

HIS  lady  fair  a  lover  once  reproved, 
For  she  had  fondly  kissed  another  swain; 
"  I  do  deny,"  right  stoutly  she  averred, 

"That  he  kissed  me  and  I  kissed  him  again;" 
"Not  so?  not  so?"  the  lover  cried,  "I  know 

Because  I  saw  't  was  not  what  I  had  heard." 

Hot  was  the  lady's  speech :    "  You  love  me  not, 

Since  you  believe  your  eyes  and  not  my  word." 


35 


WILD  ROSE 

DO  I  believe?     O  lovely  rose, 
Outside  the  garden-close, 
Unplanted,  wild  and  free! 
How  could  I  doubt  His  skill, 
Whose  love  created  thee? 
The  fields  are  red  with  clover. 
And  daisies  star  the  lea, 
But  not  in  all  the  meadow 
Is  flower  so  dear  to  me. 
'T  is  in  thy  face  forever, 
His  heavenly  face  I  see 
Who  made  the  garden  roses, 
And  left  my  wild  rose  free. 
Do  I  believe?     O  fairest  of  all  prairie-flowers, 
As  winds  believe  in  sea, 
As  stars  believe  in  midnight, 
So  I  believe  in  thee! 


36 


LILIES  FOR  ROSALIE 

RAISE  your  heads,  ye  virgin  lilies — 
Lilies  white,  so  chaste  and  free! 
Bend  no  more  with  artless  grace, 
Mirrored  in  the  water's  face — 
You  shall  live  with  Rosalie. 

Lift  your  stems  of  shining  silver; 

Open  wide  your  leaves  to  me; 
You  shall  live,  and  never  fade, 
When  you're  with  the  fairest  maid — 

On  the  breast  of  Rosalie. 

Lilies,  hear  you  what  I'm  saying? 

Fadeless  glories  ye  shall  be; 
Careful,  then,  lest  wavelets  drift  you; 
Stooping  low,  I  gently  lift  you — 

You  shall  live  with  Rosalie. 


37 


KINDNESS 

WHOSE  eye  with  melting  pity  flows, 
His  life  is  like  a  summer  rose ; 
But  he  whose  ready  hands  are  kind, 
A  father's  heart  in  God  shall  find; 
For  better  't  is  to  love  than  weep, 
And  better  far  to  work  than  sleep; 
For  human  kindness  is  divine, 
And  what  thou  givest  shall  be  thine. 


THE  VIVISECTOR 

He  look'd  so  coarse  and  so  red, 
I  could  think  he  was  one  of  those  who  could  break  their  jests 

on  the  dead, 
And  mangle  the  living  dog  that  had  loved  him  and  fawn'd 

at  his  knee  — 

Drench' d  with   the   hellish   oorali  —  that   ever  such    things 
could  be! 

TENNYSON:    In  the  Child's  Hospital. 

WOULD    I    the    vivisector's    hand    enclasp? 
May  God  forbid! 

Let  the  red  scoundrel  go  his  way;  not  mine 
To  share  his  cruel  life  to  shame  and  mercy  doubly 

dead. 
The  air  I  would  not  breathe  he  breathes;  the 

wine 
Of  life  should  be  unmixed  with  gall.     A  heart  of 

flint  may  be 

A  thing  to  wonder  at  a  while,  but  not 
To  love  and  trust,  though  Science  and  Fair  Learn 
ing  yield  their  names 

To  cover  o'er  the  dark  and  damning  blot 
Of  his  base  deeds.     With  blood  his  hands  are  red, 

and  more  than  foul 

From  reeking  filth  of  shambles  where  resound, 
39 


40  The  Vivisector 

From  creatures  misnamed  dumb,  despairing  cries 

of  agony — 

Vain  cries  for  mercy:  mercy  is  not  found 
Where  men  more  like  to  fiends  in  hell,  with  ruth 
less  hearts  perverse, 

Live,  and  delight  them  in  the  pain  they  give. 
May  God  on  them  the  mercy  they  refuse  bestow! 

but  I 
Must  still  remain  too  human  to  forgive. 

A  little  dog  too  gentle  to  defend  itself  from  wrong, 
By  years  of  kindness  taught  to  trust,  was  rudely 

bound  one  day. 
A   ruffian   who   himself   "  physician "    called,   the 

quiv-ring  nerves 
Dissected  out  with  greedy  knife,  the  blood  all 

dripping  down 
From  his  vile  hands  upon  the  sanded  floor.     The 

creature's  howls 
Of  agony  he  heeded  not;  the  shameful  lust  of 

pain 
Was  in  his  loveless  soul;    the  joy   of  butchery 

inspired 
His  icy  bosom  with  the  spirit  of  the  ancient 

Cain, 
For  he  would  have  dissected  out  his  brother's 

heart,  could  he 

Have  won  applause  from  men  as  vile  and  brutal 
as  himself. 


The  Vivisector  41 

Around  him  wounded  creatures  lay;  instruments 

of  torture 

Covered  all  the  slippery  floor  and  the  ensan 
guined  shelf. 
The  air  was  heavy  with  the  fetor   of  decay;  a 

sense 
Of  deepening  horror  darkly  brooded  all  the 

place,  as  though 
The  creatures,  great  and  small,  that  he  had  cut 

or  torn  apart, 
Had    left    him    with    their    curse    a    nameless 

legacy  of  woe. 
Upon   him   by   mere   chance   I   came,   but   ne'er 

shall  I  forget 
The  scene  my  vision  met  in  shambles  where  he 

gladly  wrought, 
And  in  the  name  of  Holy  Science,  to  his  students 

round, 

With  conscience  seared  and  shameless,  all  the 
art  of  murder  taught. 

Yet  there  be  Christian  men  and  women  who  his 

lie  believe: 
;  T  is  for  advance  of  Science  and  to  help  the 

Healing  Art 
That  countless  beasts,  and  birds,  and  swimming 

creatures  God  hath  made, 
Must  mangled  be,  and  cut,  and  burned,  and 
rudely  torn  apart." 


42  The  Vivisector 

Great  God !  have  we  not  human  hearts  who  boast 

a  Christian  name? 
Are  we  all  dead  to  conscience  and  to  every  sense 

of  shame? 
When  we  lift  not  our  voices  'gainst  so  great  a 

deed  of  wrong, 
The  baseness  is  our  own,  to  us  the  brutal  crimes 

belong. 


DUST  TO  DUST 

DUST  to  dust!  "  cries  out  an  ancient  church, 
Above  the  lonely  graves  of  all  her  dead ; 
Better  the  silent  lip,  could  no  sweet  word 
Of  tender  hope  and  pity  there  be  said. 

"  Earth  to  earth,  and  ashes  unto  ashes !  " 

Not  thus  to  trembling  hearts  spake  Christ 

of  old. 
"  Thy  dead  shall  live,"  breathes  from  the  Sacred 

Page, 
And  lo !  from  every  tomb  the  stone  is  rolled. 


43 


MODERN  SPIRITUALISM. 

A  TRUST  that  ancient  folly  yet  shall  come 
To  feed  on  all  the  human  race; 
A  ghastly  faith  that  kneels  before  a  lie, 
And  glories  in  its  own  disgrace. 

A  faith  that  tramples  reason  'neath  its  foot, 
And  mocks  the  wisdom  of  the  schools; 

That  drives  the  holy  angels  out  of  Heaven, 
And  fills  the  future  world  with  fools. 


44 


MATERIALISM 

Suggested  by  Biichner's  Kraft  und  Stoff. 

A  FAITH  that  grasps  the  outer  shell, 
But  never  seeks  for  hidden  fruit; 
And  to  explain  the  soul  of  song, 

Would  weigh  and  measure  pipe  and  lute. 


45 


TRANSCENDENTALISM 

A  DARK  abyss  where  nothing  is; 
Adown  whose  silent  spaces  deep, 
From  naught  to  naught,  with  wild  delight, 
The  modern  saint  and  sibyl  leap. 


46 


THE  SAFEST  CREED 

"  X  TAME  me  the  safest  creed,"  I  cried, 

1   i|     "  These  warring  faiths  my  mind  confuse." 
Then  answer  made  a  gentle  Voice: 

"  To  none  who  seek  thy  help,  refuse ; 
Do  good,  believe  that  good  shall  come, — 

That  out  of  darkness  light  shall  shine; 
In  every  man  a  brother  see, 

And  thou  hast  found  a  creed  divine. 
The  age  shall  Calvin's  name  forget, 

And  Channing's  words  shall  die  in  air. 
But  they  who  love  their  fellow  men, 

Shall  find  the  future  bright  and  fair." 


47 


ASPIRATION 

AS  longs  the  star  for  night, 
The  flower  for  sun; 
So  longs  my  soul  for  Thee, 
O  Holy  One. 


48 


BERKLEY  CHURCHYARD 

HOW  still  are  all  the  dead, 
Each  in  his  narrow  bed; 
None  anxious  vigil  keep, 
But  all  are  fast  asleep; 
On  every  brow  is  rest, 
Peace  dwells  in  every  breast. 
It  is  a  great  relief 
To  know   that  neither  grief, 
Nor  any  sad  distress, 
Nor  doubt,  nor  weariness, 
Their   slumber   shall   disturb. 

Yonder  the  gray  church-tower 
The  spreading  elms  embower; 
Its  storied  window  looks 
Through  ivy-mantled  nooks, 
To  where  the  roses  bloom 
O'er  ruined  wall  and   tomb. 
No  more  the  walks  are  trod, 
Where  clover-blossoms  nod; 
The  yellow  daisies  bright, 
All  rimmed  with  spotless  white, 
In  matchless  beauty  wave 

49 


50  Berkley  Churchyard 

O'er  crumbling  stone  and  grave. 
The  heavy  velvet  moss 
Obscures  a  marble  cross, 
A  funeral  urn,  and  half 
The  quaint  old  epitaph, 
Where  years  and  years  ago, 
When  earth  was  white  with  snow, 
And  winter  winds  were  rife, 
They  brought  the  gentle  wife, 
And  laid  her  down  to  rest; 
Hands  folded  on  her  breast, 
And  on  her  sad,  sweet  face 
Such  meek  and  holy  grace, 
The  preacher  scarce  could  say 
The  prayer,  but  turned  away 
And  wept.     The  story  yet 
We  cannot  quite  forget, 
Though  fifty  years  are  flown 
Since  on  the  sculptured  stone 
The  scripture  verse  they  placed, 
And  her  sweet  name  they  traced. 

Yonder  an  old  woodbine, 
Fast  to  a  lifeless  pine, 
Clings  trembling  in  the  wind. 
Whose  bones  are  here  enshrined, 
Beneath  its  wealth  of  green? 
The  flowers  that  bloom  between 


Berkley  Churchyard  51 

The  loosening  joints  of  stone, 
Have  wholly  overgrown 
The  once  familiar  name, 
Long  known  to  village  fame. 
Here  rests  a  rural  bard; 
His  lowly  lot  was  hard, 
His  vision  drear  and  dun. 
Some  poor  applause  he  won 
In  humble  hearts  and  homes ; 
No  tooled  and  gilded  tomes 
Contain  his  simple  rhymes, 
Nor  in  far  distant  climes 
His  rustic  songs  are  sung, 
But  here  when  he  was  young 
He  wrote,  and  early  died. 
The  simple  folk  some  pride 
In  his  rude  work  displayed, 
And  o'er  his  grave  they  made 
This  record  carved  in  stone. 
A  little  volume  bound 
In   paper,   once   I   found — 
'Twas  all  he  left  the  world. 

Beneath  a  chestnut  tree 
Yonder  a  tomb  I  see, 
Of    costly    marble    wrought, 
From  distant  quarry  brought, 
And  reared  with  vulgar  pride, 


52  Berkley  Churchyard 

So  strong  it  must  abide 
When  many  years  have  flown. 
Well  is  the  story  known, 
Recorded  not  in  stone, 
But  all  remembered  still. 
His  was  the  ruined  mill, 
Whose  bones  lie  here  at  rest ; 
And  in  that  mill  a  chest 
Contained  his  hard-earned  gold ; 
Who  't  was  the  secret  told, 
Was  never  known.     One  night, 
By  some  strange  oversight, 
Unlocked  was  left  the  door; 
We  never  knew  much  more, 
Only  when   morning  broke, 
Dead  upon  his  floor  of  oak 
The  wealthy  miller  lay. 
Who  took  the  gold  away, 
A  secret  to  this  day 
Remains.     Yet  one  dark  night, 
Some  hand  did  boldly  write 
Upon  the  snow-white  shaft, 
A  rude  remorseful  draft 
Of  a  confession,  made 
With  purpose  to  evade 
Disclosure,  yet  express 
Contrition  and  distress. 
The  cleansing  snow  and  rain 


Berkley  Churchyard  53 

Have  washed  that  mark  of  Cain 
From  the  fair  stone  away; 
Remains  not  to  betray 
The  writer,  one  sad  line. 

What  mem'ries  cluster  here!-— 
The  smile  of  hope,  the  tear 
Of  sorrow  and  regret, 
And  anxious  thoughts  that  fret 
The  inward  soul  of  man. 
How  brief  life's  little  span ! 
How  sweet  life's  golden  day, 
That  will  not  with  us  stay! 
And  yet  is  death  not  sweet, 
A  calm  and  cool  retreat 
After  the  toil  and  heat, 
The  weakness  and  defeat, 
Of  our  frail  human  lot? 
Once  to  the  village  came 
Whom  many  years  of  shame 
Had  left  rare  beauty  still; 
It  was  her  last  sad  will, 
That  here  her  dust  might  lie 
Beneath  her  native  sky; 
She  would  nor  praise  nor  blame 
Should  e'er  engrave  her  name, 
Nor  any  mound  be  made, 
To  tell  where  they  had  laid, 


54  Berkley  Churchyard 

Beneath  the  quiet  shade, 
Of  an  o'erhanging  bough, 
The  fair  dishonored  brow 
That  only  longed  for  rest. 


How  strange  a  thing  is  life — 

The  wild  incessant  strife 

Of  passion  and  despair! 

Before  we  are  aware, 

The  day  is  flown  for  aye — 

So  soon  't  is  time  to  die. 

Death  never  yet  forgot, 

In  palace  or  in  cot, 

In  any  time  or  place, 

One  of  our  passing  race. 

Before  me  stands  the  shaft 

Of  one  whose  gentle  craft 

It  was  to  carve  in  wood; 

In  all  the  neighborhood 

Was  known  his  wondrous  skill. 

Now  yonder  daffodil 

Grows  from  the  dust  that  wrought, 

The  cunning  brain  that  thought. 

Why  was  his  life  so  brief? 

Ask  thou  the  fallen  leaf 

That  lies  before  thee  now, 

Why  from  its  parent  bough, 

Ere  came  the  winter-day, 


Berkley  Churchyard  55 

So  soon  it  fell  away. 
Ask  thou  the  withered  flower, 
That  bloomed  its  little  hour, 
And  at  thy  feet  lies  dead. 
No  more  its  fragrance  shed 
Upon  the  evening  air, 
Breathes  softly  everywhere 
The  thought  of  summer  fair. 
Death  reigns  forevermore; 
And  yet  we  need  not  pore, 
In  lonely  doubt  and  grief, 
O'er  fallen  flower  and  leaf. 
Life  hath  its  joy  for  all : 
The  vine  on  yonder  wall, 
Where  spotted  lizards  crawl, 
And  the  glad  robins  call 
Gaily  their  feathered  young. 
Has,  all  unnoticed,  sprung 
From  the  dark  earth  below. 
The  winter's  frost  and  snow, 
Gave  it  new  strength  to  grow. 
Out  of  our  griefs  arise 
The  things  that  most  we  prize. 
Life  is  too  brief  for  tears, 
Too  soon  it  disappears; 
Nor  should  our  foolish  fears 
Make  sad  the  flying  years. 
From  these  let  us  arise 


56  Berkley  Churchyard 

To  greet  the  morning  skies, 
To  welcome  the  bright  noon, 
Or  watch  the  silver  moon 
Flood  with  its  mellow  light 
The  erstwhile  lonely  night, — 
Lonely  no  more  since  we, 
In  earth  and  air  and  sea 
May  use  and  beauty  find. 
We  may  not  leave  behind 
Our  grief,  and  yet  behold! 
From  it  there  may  unfold. 
As  from  the  bud  a  flower, 
Some  rich  and  golden  hour. 

Back  from  the  wars  there  came 
A  soldier — read  his  name 
Unknown  to  larger  fame, 
On  these  rude  broken  stones, 
That  like  his  crumbling  bones, 
Themselves  are  crumbling  now. 
The  heavy  lilacs  bow, 
Until  they  touch  the  ground 
In  the  low  sunken  mound 
Where  the  gray  squirrels  hide. 
'T  is  said  he  was  a  scout ; 
From  battle  oft  without 
A  single  wound  he  came; 
Yet,  such  is  human  fame! 


Berkley  Churchyard.  57 

His  grave  is  left  alone, 

With  weed  and  vine  o'ergrown. 

And  here  I  muse  a  while, 

Beside  this  ruined  pile, 

And  dream  of  that  bright  day 

When  war  shall  pass  away, 

The  crime  of  battle  cease, 

And  universal  peace 

Shall  greater  conquest  knowr, 

Than  sword  and  gun  can  show. 

With  bowed  and  reverent  head, 
Above  his  dust  I  tread, 
Who  though  men  call  him  dead, 
Speaks  to  the  listening  ear, 
To  counsel  and  to  cheer. 
Beside  the  soldier  brave, 
In  even  humbler  grave, 
The  village  pastor  lies. 
Himself  he  put  aside, 
To  be  the  friend  and  guide 
Of  lowly  ones  and  meek ; 
'Twas  his  their  good  to  seek. 
Unlettered  rustics  heard 
From  his  pure  lips  the  word 
Of  warning  or  of  praise ; 
And  all  his  useful  days 
To  quiet  toil  he  gave, 


58  Berkley  Churchyard 

The  erring  soul  to  save. 
His  holy  life  was  bright 
With  a  diviner  light 
Than  earthly  science  knows. 
I  pluck  the  clamb'ring  rose 
Where  he  lies  now  at  rest; 
Of  all,  his  life  was  best. 
On  this  wild  fragrant  flower, 
The  child  of  sun  and  shower, 
Pressed  in  some  cherished  book, 
Oft  will  I  musing  look. 
The  leaves  though  faded,  still 
Shall  from  themselves  distil 
An  odor  rich  and  rare, 
Not  for  our  earthly  air, 
But  for  the  inward  sense. 
God  grant  when  we  go  hence, 
Some  kindly  word  or  deed, 
Far  more  than  rite  or  creed, 
And  more  than  worldly  gain, 
To  all  may  still  remain — 
Our  gift  of  love  for  men. 


THE  DAISY 

A  LITTLE  daisy, 
White  and  gold, 
In  my  garden  grew; 
All  the  daisy  knew, 

Could  be  told 
In  five  lines  or  less; 
Yet  the  day  I  bless, 

That  little  flower, 

With  heavenly  dower, 
Sweet  comfort  brought  to  me. 

In  its  humble  grace, 

I  beheld  the  face 

Of  the  Christ  of  old, 
Who  the  birds  and  flowers, 

Loved  with  tender  love. 

Would  He  love  me  less 
Than  He  loved  the  lilies  long  ago? 
Little  daisy,  bright  and  fair, 
We  may  trust  His  constant  care, 
In  field  and  garden  everywhere. 


59 


THE  NEW  AGE 

NO  more  in  believing,  enduring  affection, 
The   age   of   strong   creeds   and   unshaken 

confessions 

Lives,  with  its  power  of  daily  conferring 
Strength  to  the  heart  that,  often  desponding. 
Cries  for  a  wisdom  abiding  and  perfect, 
To  illumine  the  vision  with  splendor  of  hope.  . 
Names  that  charmed  and  sweetly  controlled   us 
Are  silent,  and  silent  shall  ever  remain, 
Though  we   strive   to   rekindle  with   prayer   and 

devotion 
The    flame    they   once    fed    in    the    heart's    deep 

retreat. 
But    nobler    and    wiser,    when    once    we    discern 

them, 

Lead  onward  forever  brave  Duty  and  Action, 
With   strength   to   encounter,   and   vanquish   un 
daunted 
The    spectres    of    conscience    that    distract    and 

bewilder, 

And  lay  them  o'erthrown  in  the  dust  at  our  feet. 
Not  the  creed,  but  the  deed  is  the  hope  of  the 

future : 

60 


The  New  Age  61 

The  rule  of  the  priest  shall  vanish  away, 
But  the  life  that  is  lived  with  earnest  endeavor, 
Stout  heart  to  endure,  brave  hands  to  achieve, 
Shall  build  us  anew  the  temple  of  worship, 
And  the   Christ  shall  return   with   His   message 
of  peace. 


A  MODERN  PREACHER 

HE  was  a  preacher  of  the  modern  sort, — 
One  third  religious  and  two  thirds  a  sport  > 
On  Sunday  preaching  best  to  fill  the  pews, 
A  little  Gospel  and  more  human  views; 
His  sermons  spiced  with  lively"  storm  and  stress," 
And  well  reported  in  the  daily  press. 


62 


THEOLOGICAL  EXPERTS 

Bishops  have  a  clear  right  to  expect  from  all  men  devout 
and  willing  submission  in  matters  of  both  doctrine  and 
practice.  They  are  theological  experts,  and  in  a  very  real 
sense  the  directors  of  conscience.  It  is  not  to  be  denied 
that  there  have  been  among  our  Spiritual  Lords  some  who 
were  incompetent  and  even  unworthy,  but  even  these  sat 
in  Moses'  seat  and  might  not  be  disobeyed  with  impunity. 
Implicit  obedience  is  the  one  great  law  of  the  church. — 
Church  Paper. 

WHEN  the  gay  monkey  reigns, 
We  all  do  well  to  dance; 
And  when  the  ass  parades, 
We  all  do  well  to  prance. 

The  monkey  and  the  ass, 

They  both  can  play  the  flute; 

The  wise  man  is  a  fool, 

Who  would  with  them  dispute. 

The  teachers  one  and  all, 

They  sit  in  Moses'  seat; 
They  know  the  whole  of  truth, 

The  will  of  God  complete. 
63 


64  Theological  Experts 

He  is  a  fool  indeed, 

Who  would  with  them  contend; 
Can  we  the  ass  instruct? 

The  monkey  comprehend? 

Discourse  thou  noble  ass, 
To  wisdom  we  incline; 

Be  patient  till  our  minds 
Climb  slowly  up  to  thine. 

Both  ass  and  monkey  reign, 
And  daily  they  parade; 

'T  is  ours  to  dance  and  prance, 
To  their  sweet   serenade. 


EVERLASTING  TRIFLES 

Horum  quis  est,  qui  non  malit  rempublicam  turbari,  quam 
comam  suam?  qui  non  sollicitior  sit  de  capitis  sui  decore, 
quam  de  salute  generis  humani?  —  Seneca. 

A  CURL,  a  scarf-pin,  or  some  foolish  thing, 
Sets  all  the  world  awry; 
'T  was  so  when  gay  old  Horace  lived  and  loved, 

And  will  be  so  for  aye. 
His  life  wise  Seneca  destroyed,  to  please 

A  graceless  royal  rogue : 
To  kill  a  sage  to  glad  a  brutal  king, 

Was  good  old  Roman  vogue. 
Two  thousand  years  have  flown,  and  we,  alas! 

Are  as  our  fathers  were, 
For  wealth  of  mind  and  heart  are  little  worth, — 

Gold  sets  the  world  astir. 


6s 


VANITY 

LO !     I  have  suffered  deeply 
In  passion  and  in  pain ; 
The  fruits  of  life  have  tasted, 

I  will  not  taste  again. 
Where  sang  the  birds  in  summer — 

Where  bloomed  the  flowers  in  June, 
The  winter  snows  are  drifting 
Beneath  the  silver  moon. 

The  golden  lights  are  darkened, 

The  harp's  sweet  sounds  are  o'er, 
The  singing  times  are  ended, 

They  will  return  no  more. 
The  flowers  were  bruised  in  anger, 

The  grapes  were  crushed  in  vain, 
There  came  no  wine  of  laughter 

From  out  the  fruit  of  pain. 


66 


ON   THE   REMOVAL   OF  THE   REMAINS 
OF  CALDERON 

1840 

UNTO  a  tomb  more  splendid  than  was  thine, 
O  gentle  poet  of  rare  mind  and  art  divine, 
There  was  no  need  transfer  thy  sacred  dust; 
Nor  need  to  rear  for  thee  the  marble  bust! 
Increased  renown  to  seek  for  thee  were  vain, 
For  lo,  thy  tomb  is  Portugal  and  Spain! 


67 


FICHTE'S  GRAVE 

Dorotheenstadt  Cemetery,  Berlin,  November  16,   1895. 

HERE  rests  a  pilgrim  at  his  journey's  end, 
Nor  smiting  sun  nor  blasting  storms  disturb 
Repose  well  earned,  his  day  of  life  well  spent ; 
Sweet  Death  hath  mixed  for  him  her  drowsy 

herb, 
Infused  a  gentle  slumber  through  his  veins, 

And  on  his  brow  impressed  the  kiss  of  peace; 
Here  joy  and  sorrow,  equal  strife  to  him, 

And  all  his  doubt,  and  love,  and  longing  cease. 

Hegel  and  Solger  by  his  side  repose, 

And  near,  the  gentle  wife  who  loved  him  well; 
Around  his  grave  the  evening  shadows  fall, 
And  through  the  tree-tops  weave  their  won 
drous  spell; 
Hard  by  the  sculptured  marble  bears  his  name, 

And  words  from  Daniel's  rapt  and  mystic  page : 
"  Like  the  bright  firmament  the  teachers  shine ; 

And  as  the  stars  of  heaven  forevermore, 
Who  turn  men's  thoughts  to  righteousness  and 

God, 

And  teach  the  heart  to  worship  and  adore." 
68 


Fichte's  Grave  69 

Dear  master  of  the  thoughts  of  men,  in  love 

Upon  thy  grave  these  humble  lines  I  place; 
O'er  me  the  light  of  reason  thou  hast  shed, 

And  all  my  doubts  and  brooding  fears  effaced; 
The  flame  that  Kant  had  kindled  thou  didst  fan 

To  brighter  radiance  of  thy  heavenly  fire; 
Thy  living  words  had  wisdom  to  console, 

The  power  to  cleanse,  illumine,  and  inspire. 


WORSHIP 

FORMS  are  dissolving, 
As  shadows  they  fade; 
Best  is  the  worship 
That  seeks  no  reward; 
Devout  the  petition 
No  answer  attends; 
More  blessed  is  God 
Than  the  thing  He  bestows. 
Seek  not  and  strive  not, 
He  waits  at  the  door. 
Changeless,  enduring, 
The  spirit  remains, 
When  the  mould  into  fragments 
Is  shattered  at  last. 


70 


SPINOZA 

Schliermacher,  "  Rede  uber  die  Religion." 

A  LOCK  of  hair  to  good  Spinoza's  manes! 
The  Spirit  of  the  world  infused  his  own; 
He  saw  the  boundless  universe  instinct 

With  love,  and  yet,  alas!  he  dwelt  alone. 
Filled  with  divine  and  happy  thought,  his  mind 

Took  little  heed  of  human  praise  or  blame; 
Disciples  he  had  none,  yet  deathless  glory 
Crowned  with  her  laurel  his  immortal  name. 


GOD 

TEN  thousand  worlds  His  face  behold, 
Beneath  His  feet  the  stars  are  dust, 
Yet  man  contains  Him  all  in  all. 
In  our  rude  speech  He  speaks  His  will, 
Not  wild  the  sibyl's  frenzy  was, 
Nor  was  the  prophet's  warning  vain; 
Still  brightly  burns  the  hallowed  fire, 
And  stammering  lips  the  message  breathe 
The  Love  creative  reappears, 
And  as  the  Father,  so  the  child. 


72 


FAME 

IN  his  vast  gardens,  once  an  Oriental  lord 
A  stately  palace  reared  in  Ghazneh  fair; 
And  that  he  might  his  royal  father  greatly  please, 
He  sought  to  make  a  splendid  banquet  there. 
But  o'er  the  father's  face  a  shade  of  sadness  fell: 
"  Dear  son,"  spake  he,  "  my  wealthy  subjects 

all 

Could    with    their    gold    a    thousand    pleasure- 
structures  build; 

'Twere  nobler  far  to  heed  the  heavenly  call, 
And  for  thy  soul  construct  a  temple  of  such  fame 
As  wealth  and  knowledge  nevermore  can  give. 
Strive  not  ambition's  gilded  dream  of  power  to 

grasp, 

But  learn  for  more  abiding  fame  to  live." 
Long  years  ago  Mohammed's  palace  fell, 

And  o'er  the  plain  its  stones  are  scattered  wide ; 
But  still  with  fond  delight  the  monarch's  name  is 

breathed, 
His  deeds  of  valor  and  his  fame  abide. 

Learn  thou,  my  soul,  that  more  than  sacred  lesson 

well : 

Who  lives  for  good  achieved,  his  fame  endures ; 
To  all  who  serve  their  age,  and  love  their  fellow 

men, 
The  holy  Allah  his  reward  insures. 


73 


BE  STILL  AND  WAIT 

BE  still,  O  Soul! 
For  thee  unwearied  toils  th'  Immortal  Love, 
And  from  the  tangled  threads  of  time 
Doth  weave  the  garment  of  eternity. 
Be  still  and  wait. 
The  loom  hath  many  threads, 
But  the  swift  shuttle  runneth  well; 
A  day,  a  night,  and  lo !  between  two  hours 
The  fabric  falls. 
Be  still  and  wait, 

For  thou  shalt  wear  the  garment  of  eternity, 
The  shining  robe  of  immortality. 


74 


THE  RULE  OF  LIFE 

WITH  Reason  dwell  in  ever  sweet  delight, — 
A  noble  purpose  in  thy  daily  life, 
To  which,  as  turns  the  needle  to  the  pole, 

Thou  mov'st  with  neither  haste  nor  eager  strife. 
Seek  not  unfathomed  mysteries  to  view, 

Nor  let  brief  trifles  stir  thine  inner  mind; 
Desire  not  boundless  wealth,  nor  knowledge  vast ; 

Be  not  self-centred — to  thy  neighbor  blind; 
Waste  no  regret  on  what  thou  canst  not  change 

Let  common  joys  supply  a  sane  delight. 
Thus    live,    and    peace    shall    be    thy    changeless 

friend ; 
Gladness  shall  fill  thy  day,  and  sleep  thy  night. 


75 


REVERIE 

ALL  around  me,   everywhere, 
Through  the  dreamy  world  of  air — 
Underneath  me,  overhead, 
Like  the  shadows  of  the  dead, 

Float  the  endless  mysteries. 

Through  the  russet  Autumn  leaves, 
Where  the  purple  twilight  weaves 
Wondrous  webs  of  light  and  shade, 
Silent  cities  rise  and  fade — 

Cities  without  histories. 

Through  the  tangle  and  the  brake, 
Till  they  meet  the  silver  lake, 
Run  the  merry  mountain  streams — 
Fall  like  ever-fading  dreams 

In  the  ocean  of  the  night. 

O'er  the  mountain,  through  the  glen, 
And  the  city  filled  with  men, 
Float  the  navies  of  the  air — 
Drop  their  anchors  everywhere 

Through  the  silent  depths  of  light. 
76 


Reverie  77 

Underneath  them  waves  of  sound, 
With  strange  melody  resound; 
On  their  decks  the  sailors  sing, 
Keeping  time  with  everything 

On  the  earth  and  in  the  air. 

And  within  me,  like  a  voice, 
Something  bids  my  soul  rejoice, 
Saying :  "  Seek  not  to  explain, 
Where  thy  search  must  be  in  vain; 

Let  thy  soul  be  lost  in  prayer." 


ONLY  A  WORD 

ONLY  a  flower  that  grew  awhile, 
By  the  dusty  roadside  there, 
One  thing  'mid  grime,  and  heat,  and  weeds, 
Fragrant,  and  fresh,  and  fair. 

One  word  in  all  the  fierce  debate, 

Tender,  and  kind,  and  true; 
Dear  word,  my  life  is  better  now, 

And  sweeter  far  for  you. 


TO  ONE  ABOUT  TO  DIE 

PR  thee  Time  weaves  her  silver  thread 
Between  the  living  and  the  dead. 

The  tide  of  years  runs  smooth  and  still 
Through  the  sweet  valley  of  God's  will. 

The  banks  are  scented  far  above 
With  the  white  lilies  of  His  love. 

And,  through  the  wind's  triumphant  song, 
He  bids  thy  passing  soul  be  strong. 

I  would  not  mar  the  perfect  grace 
That  God  hath  shed  upon  thy  face 

With  one  sad  word  of  song  or  prayer, — 
But  leave  thee,  as  He  made  thee,  fair. 


79 


"  USE  WELL  THE  PASSING  HOUR." 

NOR  strive  nor  sorrow  more 
The  tearless  dead: 
To  all  impartial  Fate 
Metes  out  a  common  lot. 
As  on  some  lonely  moor, 
With  sedge  o'ergrown, 
And  lichens  dank, 
Descends  the  boreal  snow, 
Her  mantle  dull  Oblivion  spreads 
In  silence  and  repose. 
Brief  are  man's  days, 
And  all  unequal  his  desires. 
He  questions  much, — 
How  little  he  discerns! 
On  years  of  doubt 
How  late  the  wisdom  that  attends ! 
Therefore,  what  life  to  thee  remains 
Live  well; 

Make  holy  covenant 
With  conscience  free  of  inward  guilt, 
And  noble  purpose  reared  to  deeds  of  love. 
To  thee  remains, 

80 


"  Use  Well  The  Passing  Hour"      81 

How  brief  so  e'er  it  be, 

Some  season  wisdom  may  improve. 

Use  well  the  passing  hour. 

To  pray,  if  gods  attend, 

Is  wise  in  man, 

Yet  they  pray  best 

Who  labor  most; 

Than  smoking  holocausts, 

Oblations  rare, 

And  rites  austere, 

Is  honest  toil  preferred, 

That,  rich  in  its  abundance, 

Yields  divine  reward. 


THE  SECRET  KNOWLEDGE 

Of   that   ineffable   essence   which   we   call   Spirit,   he   who 
thinks  most  will  say  least. —  Emerson. 

I  HAVE  seen  God, 
Yet  what  He  is 
I  may  not  say, 
Lest  when  you  think, 
And  when  you  pray, 
What  He  is  not 
He  should  appear. 
Was  He  begot 
Of  our  rude  speech? 
Nay,  but  to  each 
He  is  more  dear. 

Forever  streams 
His  presence  bright, 
In  varied  hues, 
Reflected  well 
In  many  souls; 
But  who  can  tell 
What  sweet  delight 
To  each  is  given? 
82 


The  Secret  Knowledge  83 

I  may  not  preach, 
You  may  not  hear; 
There  is  no  rule, 
Austere  .command, 
Or  stern  decree 
Of  any  school, 
Or  creed  to  teach. 
No  inward  strife 
Can  bring  him  near. 

Why  should  you  ask 
Of  Him  or  His? 
Why  seek  to  know 
His  plan  for  me? 
Will  thou  His  will, 
And  go  thy  way. 


VIRGILII  CARMINA 

Ex  Typographia  Firminorum  Didot. 

HOW  I  love  thee,  little  book ! 
Virgil  made  thee  years  ago — 
Sweeter  poet  never  lived 
In  this  winter-world  of  ours; 
And  good  Didot  printed  well 
All  thy  pages  fair  to  see; 
'T  was  an  artist  of  rare  grace 
Made  the  pictures  that  adorn 
Volume  of  such  sweet  delight, 
From  the  Roman  singer's  heart. 
What  companionship  is  thine, 
Gentle  friend  of  happy  hours! 
When  I  turn  thy  sacred  leaves, 
Page  on  page  of  minted  gold, 
Jewels  from  the  mine  of  thought, 
Flowers  of  earth,  and  asphodel, 
All  are  mine — O,  treasure  great! 

When  the  evening  shadows  fall, 
And  the  twinkling  stars  on  high 
Burn  above  my  quiet  home, 
In  my  little  room  I  go, 
84 


Virgilii  Carmina  85 

And  before  the  firelight  muse, 
With  the  Georgics  open  wide. 

yEneas  lives  again  in  thee: 
Throng  around  me  men  of  old; 
Songs  of  battle  and  of  love, 
Songs  of  ploughed  and  fertile  fields, 
Gladness   of  our  human  life, 
Toil,  and  sorrow,  and  despair, 
All  that  man  has  known  or  been, 
Throb  and  burn  upon  thy  page. 
O,  what  bliss  my  heart  inspires, 
As  I  wander  far  away, 
With  my  Virgil  hand  in  hand! 


FOLLOW  THE  LIGHT 

Wer  frei  will  seyn 

Der  folge  diesem  Sonnenschein. 

HnVD  moping  owl, 

1       And  loathsome  bat, 
Leave  starless  gloom. 
The  mole  may  burrow, 
But  the  bird  will  soar, 
And  all  the  echoing  wood 
With  music  flood.. 
Wouldst  thou  be  free? 
Follow  the  sunlight; 
Caverns  dark  forsake, 
Where  crumbling  hopes  and  fears 
Of  creeds  and  races  dead, 
Moulder  in  slow  decay, 
And  nevermore  the  golden  sun 
Sheds  warmth  and  welcome  cheer. 
The  morning-red  with  radiant  wing  salute; 
Through  azure  spaces  of  unclouded   sky, 
Follow  with  glad  triumphant  song, 
The  glory  of  the  opening  day. 


86 


AT  THE  TOMB  OF  SENANCOUR 

IN  Sevres  before  a  tomb  I  stood  and  read, 
'Neath  waving  willow  and  an  ilex  there, 
The  name  of  one  whose  aching  heart  breathed 

out 

With  dying  breath  this  last  and  bitter  prayer: 
"  Be  thou   Eternity,  my  refuge !  "     None 

Was  there  for  thee  but  silence  and  the  night: 
And  as  I  mused,  a  bird  flew  swiftly  by, 

God's  sunlight  flashing  from  its  pinions  bright. 

Of  Oberman's  enchanted  page  I  thought, 

The  story  of  thy  lonely  pilgrim  days; 
I  pondered  if  Eternity  at  last 

Were  welcome  goal  of  thy  sad  wand'ring  ways. 
And  as  I  mused,  far  up  a  leafy  bough 

The  bird  sang  sweetly  of  great  love  and  hope; 
The  air  was  fragrant  with  the  breath  of  flowers, — 

The  wild  red  rose  and  purple  heliotrope. 

O  Senancour,  there  is  a  refuge  here 

For  earthly  sorrow  and  our  wild  unrest! 

The  hill,  the  forest,  and  the  running  brook 
Invite  repose  on  Nature's  soothing  breast; 
87 


88        At  the  Tomb  of  Senancour 

And  when  our  little  selves  we  do  forget, 

In  the  bright  world  of  beauty  God  hath  made, 

Scant  power  hath  human  ill  the  heart  to  vex, 
Nor  is  there  boding  woe  to  make  afraid. 

Far  from  the  crowded  city's  wildering  maze, 

God  meets  us  in  the  flight  of  singing  birds; 
His  voice  is  in  the  winds  and  sounding  sea, 

And  in  the  lowing  of  the  peaceful  herds. 
The  simple  joys  of  rural  life  have  grace 

To  still  the  tumult  of  our  care  and  doubt; 
From  artificial  thoughts  our  life  allure, 

And  these  poor  pleasures  we  might  do  without. 

This  lesson  from  thy  lonely  tomb  I  learn, 

Thou  gifted  son  of  genius  and  despair: 
'T  is  only  when  our  sense  of  self  we  lose, 

As  well  we  lose  our  burden  and  our  care. 
All  Nature  thrills  with  music  and  with  song, 

When    we    have    ears    to    catch    the    heavenly 

strain ; 

And  when  with  love  our  hearts  are  warm  and 
true, 

We  know  He  made  us  not  to  live  in  vain. 


THE  IMPRISONED  SOUL 

OH  weary,  sorrowful  soul  of  man, 
Forever  struggling  at  the  gate ! 
Thou  know'st  not  that  a  prison  holds  thee ; 
The  bars  are  welded  time  and  fate. 

An  angel  waits  without  to  free  thee, 
To  ope  the  gate  and  break  the  chain; 

Thou  wilt  not  bid  the  angel  enter, 
But  striv'st  to  free  thyself  in  vain. 

The  angel's  name  is  sweet  Contentment, 
She  bids  thee  give  the  struggle  o'er; 

But  reach  her  hand  within  the  darkness, 
And  time  and  fate  shall  bind  no  more. 


89 


"  SIGH  NOT  A  VANISHED  PAST.' 

WHY  chase  the  flying  dream 
Of  wealth  and  fame? 
For  us  the  marble  waits; — 
A  date — a  name. 

The  grass  is  green  to-day, 

The  heavens  are  blue; 
The  summer  heart  holds  now 

Love  sweet  and  true. 

Fill  the  swift  hour  with  glad, 

Kind  deeds  and  words; 
The  fragrance  of  the  flowers, 

The  song  of  birds. 

Sigh  not  a  vanished  past, 

A  fading  year: 
Enrich  the  passing  hour, 

And  banish  fear. 

So  shall  the  world  grow  young, 

And  envy  die; 
Peace  from  the  heavens  descend, 

And  God  draw  nigh. 


HAFIZ 

WINE,   wine,   sweet   wine, 
Rich  blood  divine 
Of  purple  vine, 
With  glowing  fire 
My  soul  inspire, 
And  tune  my  lyre! 

"  Hafiz  is  dead," 
The  maidens  said, 
"  Drowned  in  the  red 
Wine-wave.     Alas ! 
Who  shall  surpass, 
On  the  green  grass 
Or  the  blue  sea, 
Hafiz  the  free?" 

In  sweet  surprise, 
From  the  clear  skies 
Of  Zara's  eyes, 
A  shining  dart 
Pierced  Hafiz's  heart. 

From  the  red  wave, 
She  thought  his  grave, 
91 


Hafiz 

With  deathless  song, 
Clear,  sweet,  and  strong, 
Sprang  Persia's  lyre 
Of  mingled  fire 
And  sweet  desire. 

"  Wine,  wine  for  me, 
Hafiz  the  free! 
And  when  I  die, 
My  soul  shall  fly 
From  love's  alarms 
To  Zara's  arms." 


SOMEWHERE 

SOMEWHERE  a  place  is  waiting- 
Has  waited  long  for  me; 
I  cannot  tell  if  on  the  land, 
Or  in  the  deep  blue  sea. 

It  may  be  on  the  mountain-top, 
By  wandering  breezes  fanned; 

Or  in  some  lonely  valley, 
In  a  forsaken  land. 

But  whether  it  be  on  the  land, 
Or,  'neath  the  boundless  sea; 

It  is  the  place  that  Nature  holds 
Close  to  her  heart  for  me. 


93 


THALIA 

FIERCE  flames  fell  on  your  brow  upturned 
To  meet  th'  eternal  light; 
Immortal  fire  from  heaven  came  down, 

To  make  your  dark  eyes  bright ; 
Your  cruel  limbs,  your  shapely  form, 
The  high  gods  wrought  their  best; 
They  stamped  with  kisses  soft  and  sweet 
Their  image  on  your  breast. 

They  formed  your  subtle  nerves  and  veins, 

And  bade  your  pulses  swell; 
They  filled  your  breathing  flesh  with  life, 

And  shaped  your  spirit  well. 
Then  down  the  changing  isles  of  time 

.With  solemn  chant  they  came, 
And  to  the  sound  of  silver  harps 

They  syllabled  your  name. 

Seven  golden  flames  the  high  gods  wrought 

And  bound  them  in  your  hair, 
And  all  the  heavens  sent  songs  to  you, 

And  all  the  earth  sweet  prayer: 
But  lo !  one  temple  there  was  found 

Where  no  soft  lights  were  shed; 
That  lonely  temple  was  my  heart — 

The  dwelling  of  the  dead. 


94 


THE  FAR  HORIZON 


SWING  low,  thou  silver  moon! 
The  rhyme  and  rune 
Of  frost  and  snow, 
Of  seas  that  flow, 
And  winds  that  blow, 
Of  weed  and  flower 
That  sun  and  shower, 
Rejoicing,  bring 
To  every  spring, 
Keep  time  and  tune. 
A  gentle  mirth 
Fills  all  the  earth; 
O'er  vale  and  height 
The  quiet  light 
Of  heaven  descends: 
Swing  low,  thou  silver  moon — 
Flood  all  the  restful  noon 
Of  this  sweet  summer  night, 
With  calm  and  holy  light! 
Swing  low!  swing  low! 
95 


96  The  Far  Horizon 

Swing  low,  thou  silver  moon! 

On  nature's  breast 

My  heart,  at  rest, 

The  music  hears 

Of  singing  years, 

And  laughing  flowers; 

I  watch  the  hours 

Unfold  their  wings; 

To  meet  the  skies, 

The  mists  arise 

Through  all  the  day, 

In  circles  gray, 

O'er  purple  hills; 

The  night  comes  down 

Upon  the  town; 

And  o'er  the  sea, 

The  mystery 

Of  created  things 

A  deeper  darkness  flings: 

Swing  low,  thou  silver  moon ! 

Swing  low!  swing  low! 

ii 

Swing  low,  thou  silver  moon ! 
Another  sound  is  in  the  air, 
A  cry  of  anguish  and  despair. 
Dark  shadows  fall,  and  everywhere 
The  lonely  graves  on  sea  and  land 


The  Far  Horizon  97 

Rest  not,  but  evermore  demand 
To  know  the  justice  of  man's  fate: 
"Rules  love,  or  only  deathless  hate?" 
War  lifts  her  crimsoned  sword  on  high, 
And  at  her  feet  the  nations  lie. 
Plague,  famine,  and  disaster  smite, 
And,  in  their  wild  and  cruel  might, 
Make  sport  of  human  hope  and  fear. 
The  fruitless  fields  are  brown  and  sere. 
The  canker  and  the  worm  divide 
The  glory  of  all  earthly  pride. 
The  soul  on  dust  and  ashes  fed, 
Wonders  if  God  and  love  are  dead. 
Did  Heaven  create  the  sword  and  flame? 
And  plant  th'  accursed  rose  of  shame 
In  hearts  that  struggle  with  desire, — 
That  would  be  pure,  yet  in  the  mire 
Of  lust,  sink  deeper  day  by  day? 
Hears  Christ  the  countless  hosts  that  pray 
In  all  His  temples  far  and  near, 
With   sigh   and  penitential   tear — 
That  pray,  and  for  an  answer  wait, 
While  none  returns,  though  oft  and  late 
Their  cry  goes  up  to  Heaven  in  vain? 
What  shall  be  said  of  fearful  pain? 
The  house  of  slaughter  red  with  gore? 
The  howl  of  anguish,  the  wild  roar 
Of  creatures  desperate  before 


98  The  Far  Horizon 

The  cruel  vivisector's  knife? 

What  of  the  men  who  serve  for  life, 

In  dungeon's  far  removed  from  hope? 

What  of  the  hangman's  gyves  and  rope? 

What  shall  be  said  of  starving  hosts 

That  rot  alive,  where  England  boasts 

Her  gentle  rule  and  Gospel  light? 

What  of  the  golden  parasite 

Of  Godless  wealth,  the  selfish  gain 

That  feeds  upon  the  heart  and  brain? 

With  lonely  graves  the  earth  is  strewn; 

The  dead  are  dead;  the  living  groan 

In  anguish  that  no  tongue  can  tell; 

And  dark  as  fate,  the  fear  of  hell 

Looms  black  with  doom,  to  mock  the  grace 

That  shone  upon  the  holy  face 

Of  One  a  Roman  cross  held  high, 

JTwixt  trembling  earth  and  shud'ring  sky — 

His  love  we  owned;  His  word  believed; 

Is  God  not  good?     Are  we  deceived? 

Swing  low,  swing  low,  thou  silver  moon ! 

The  earth  and  sky  are  out  of  tune. 

in 

Swing  low,  swing  low,  thou  silver  moon! 
Hope  beckons  with  inviting  hand; 
Not  all  man's  trouble  can  withstand     . 
Her  gentle  smile  of  heavenly  peace; 


The  Far  Horizon  99 

For  every  soul  she  hath  surcease 

Of  anguish  and  despair  at  last. 

We  are  not  what  we  were  of  old, 

And  when  the  story  has  been  told 

Of  all  the  ages,  who  shall  say 

The  flame  that  burned  in  our  dull  clay 

Was  made  to  smoulder  and  expire? 

New  wisdom  shall  our  race  acquire. 

On  every  altar  holier  fire, 

A  nobler  faith  shall  kindle  there. 

Beyond  the  anguish  and  distress, 

The  fears  that  all  our  hearts  oppress, 

Beyond  the  wrong  we  may  not  right, 

I  see  the  dawning  of  the  light. 

The  living  Christ  shall  yet  return; 

The  eastern  star  again  shall  burn; 

Eternal  love  shall  win  the  day. 

Swing  low,  swing  low,  thou  silver  moon! 

To  all  our  race,  the  richest  boon 

Is  not  what  we  have  been  or  are, 

But  what  awaits  us  from  afar. 

Swing  low!  swing  low! 

The  future  beckons,  and  we  go! 


PRAYER  FOR  STRENGTH 

Eventide. 

THROUGH    visions    of    the    night    and    toils 
of  day, 

Let  no  temptation's  power  my  purpose,  sway : 
But    grant,    dear    Lord,    Thy   love's    unchanging 

might, 
To  keep  my  trembling  faith  and  honor  bright. 

Be  hand  and  heart  alert  to  do  Thy  will, 
Not  with  impatient  haste,  but  calm  and  still ; 
Thus  when  the  long  day's  work  for  Thee  is  done, 
My  waiting  soul  shall  dread  no  setting  sun. 

At  last  when  softly  fall  the  shadows  deep, 
And  sinks  th'  o'er  weary  brain  to  quiet  sleep. 
From  every  anxious  care  and  burden  free, 
Le  me  forevermore  abide  with  Thee. 


100 


QUIET  POWER 

SERENE   and   still, 
The  mighty  will 
Of  God  prevails 
Where  striving  fails. 
They  win  the  day, 
Who  learn  the  way 
Of  quiet  power, 
And  bide  their  hour. 
No  work  is  wrought 
By  anxious  thought. 
Our  foolish  haste 
Makes  greater  waste. 
Life's  golden  prize 
Before  him  lies, 
Who  takes  his  time. 


101 


IN  ARA-CCELI 

Feb.  4,  1886. 

OHOLY  lies,  how  have  ye,  one  and  all, 
Our    blind    and    groping    human    race 

deceived ! 

Devout  they  were  who  could  not  trust  in  God, 
Yet  in  monk  Luca's  pictures  of  our  Lord, 
And  in  the  "  Holy  Coat  "  at  Treves  believed. 
The  mighty  Spirit  who  created  all, 
And  to  our  crumbling  dust  Himself  imparts, 
Seemed  scarcely  worth  an  idle  passing  thought. 
Celestial  roses  dropped  from  Paradise, 
And  speaking  crucifixes,  deftly  wrought 
In  hallowed  falsehood  and  ecstatic  prayer, 
Appeared,  in  every  time  and  everywhere, 
More  worthy  faith  divine  and  bended  knee 
Than  God,  eternal  truth,  and  liberty. 


102 


TRUST 

Naomi. 

I  CANNOT  know  if  good  or  ill 
My  future  lot  enfold; 
But,  Lord,  I  rest  in  peace,  because 
Thou  dost  that  future  hold. 

And  though  at  times  my  spirit  fails, 

And  weary  seems  the  day, 
I  grasp  Thy  hand  and  follow  on 

Through  all  the  lonely  way. 

I  care  not  if  the  road  be  rough, 
Or  filled  with  flowery  ease; 

The  hardest  road  with  Thee  is  smooth 
Without  Thee  none  can  please. 

I  would  not,  Lord,  apart  from  Thee, 
Bright  wealth  or  pleasure  choose; 

And  what  I  have,  I  pray  Thee  now, 
For  Thine  own  glory  use. 

Thus  may  I  trust  Thy  holy  Word, 
And  follow  Thy  sweet  will; 

Assured  that  in  the  darkest  night 
Thou  art  beside  me  still. 


103 


MADONNA 

BARE  was  the  breast  that  cradled  Christ, 
Pierced  for  the  great  world's  sake; 
She  said:  "  If  men  forsake  not  sin, 
This  wounded  heart  must  break." 

Then  down  from  Heaven  a  golden  light 

In  robes  of  music  fell; 
A  voice  cried :  "  Thou  art  Queen  of  Heaven, 

But  I  am  King  of  Hell." 

Seven  silver  flames  her  crown  enclosed ; 

Their  pallid  lights  were  shed 
Upon  her  face,  to  God  upturned, 

Like  starlight  on  the  dead. 


104 


FREEDOM 

THE  truth  shall  make  you  free !  " 
Free ! — that  is  the  very  thing  men  fear. 
The  houses  of  convention 
Are  so  warm  and  snug, 
There  is  such  sweet  delight  and  cheer 
Beneath  the  rafters  of  some  old  belief, 
Men  will  not  venture  into  open  air. 

Yet  just  beyond  the  threshold  bloom 
Bright  world  on  world  of  fragrant  flowers 
That  wear  the  beauty  of  a  cloudless  day, 
And  radiant  splendor  of  a  thousand  stars. 
Their  plumes  of  green  the  forests  lift, 
Where,  clad  in  crimson  and  in  gold, 
From  bough  to  bough  the  happy  birds 
Sing  to  the  listening  ear  of  morn. 


105 


DESCENT  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

NOT  till  from  fretful  clamor  rude  we  cease, 
And  discontent, 

Shall  th'  blessed  Spirit  of  eternal  peace 
To  us  be  sent. 

Th'  transforming  One  that  out  from  chaos  wrought 

A  thing  of  life, 
Flies  hence  at  sound  of  wild  discordant  thought, 

And  endless  strife. 

In  sacred  hush  of  everlasting  love, 

And  holy  rest, 
Descends  the  Spirit  from  the  realms  above, 

To  be  our  guest. 

Therefore,  awhile  in  faith  let  us  retire — 

Shut  to  the  door; 
That  with  Himself  He  may  our  hearts  inspire 

Forevermore. 


106 


THE  REAL  CHRIST 

SHOULD   Jesus   Christ   once   more   to   earth 
return — 

The  Christ  of  old  in  every  way  the  same, 
Would  He  attend  a  church  or  wear  a  gown? 

Intone  long  prayers  or  light  an  altar-flame? 
Would  He  expound  our  doctrines?  say  the  creed? 

Walk  in  procession?  curtesy  and  bow? 
Desire  our  priestly  honors  and  our  gold? 

Would  He  take  orders  or  assume  a  vow? 
Nay,  would  He  not  despise  what  most  we  prize? 

Consort  with  some  who  scarcely  bear  his  name  ? 
And    pour    contempt    on    sect,    and    priest,    and 
creed  ? 

And  count  our  loud  pretensions  only  shame? 
We  think  our  fine  distinctions  please  Him  well, 

That  He  approves  the  selfish  strifes  we  wage, — 
Strifes  that  have  stained  the  "  Christian  "  world 
with  blood, 

And  changed  the  love  of  God  to  churchly  rage. 
Go  to,  ye  bishops,  priests,  and  preaching  men! 

Your  forms  are  idle  and  your  words  are  vain; 
When  all  your  craft  and  worldly  praise  are  dead^ 

The  Son  of  Mary  will  return  again. 


107 


AT  THE  LORD'S  TABLE 

T  ORD,  at  Thy  table  I  remember  Thee: 

1— *     Grant  Thou  Thy  servant  grace  that  he  may 

be 

At  other  tables  sweetly  mindful  still 
Both  of  Thy  love  and  of  Thy  holy  will ; 
Thus  shall  he  bring  to  every  hearth  and  home. 
In  every  land  o'er  which  his  feet  may  roam, 
A  kindness,  tender,  gracious,  and   divine, — 
A  richer  food  than  earthly  bread  and  wine. 


108 


AGE 

yap  6  Bioq  oufjibs    iffitipav  ayst. 


WHEN  life  grows  cold, 
And  we  are  old; 
The  fire  burns  low, 
And  Winter's  snow 
Falls  through  twilight  air, 
And  everywhere 
Is  stillness  and  regret; 
And  we  forget 
All  save  the  early  day, 
So  far  away; 
When  life  is  lonely, 
And  we  only 
Have  ceaseless  quest  — 
Seeking  for  rest 
That  lingers  on  the  way, 
As  loth  to  stay 
With  dull  and  frosty  age; 
Who  shall  our  grief  assuage  — 
The  weak  regret  and  dole 
Of  a  poor  trembling  soul, 
With  healing  words  console? 
109 


no  Age 

Friend  of  the  early  day, 

If  still  there  stay 

With  us  Thy  presence  dear, 

Nor  grief  nor  fear, 

Nor  sins  that  we  deplore, 

Can  wound  us  sore. 

There  never  can  be  grief, 

But  Thy  relief 

Shall  fall  like  summer  rain, 

That  brings  again 

The  glad  sweet  flowers  of  spring. 

And  so  at  last, 

Our  work  well  done, 

Unmoved,  we'll  view 

The  swift  descending  sun 

Go  down  for  aye; 

And,  one  by  one,  the  twinkling  stars 

Light  up  the  sky. 


"WATCHMAN,  WHAT  OF  THE  NIGHT?" 

Isaiah  xxi.  n. 

ARISE!  for  Jesus  Christ  has  come," 
Cried  the  watchman  on  his  tower: 
A  light  flashed  up  the  golden  East, 
The  great  clock  struck  the  holy  hour. 

s 

Men,  women,  and  children  came, 
Breathing  His  eternal  name: 
"  Jesus  Christ  is  come,"  they  said, 
"  We  dwell  no  longer  with  the  dead." 

With  waving  hand  and  great  glad  shout, 
They  thronged  the  watchman  all  about: 
The  living  air  was  filled  with  song; 
It  was  a  wild  tumultuous  throng. 

"Where  saw  you  sign  of  His  return?" 
"Yonder  behold  the  bright  star  burn!" 
They  gazed  in  wonder  and  delight, 
Upon  the  glory  of  that  light. 

With  splendor  all  the  heavens  did  blaze, 
The  earth  sent  back  a  shout  of  praise: 
"  Jesus  Christ  is  come !  "  they  cried, 
"  He  lives  who  died !  " 


in 


"  COULD  WE  BUT  TRUST  HIS  CONSTANT 
CARE  " 

WHEN  faith  and  reason  sink  from  sight, 
The  sun  goes  down  and  in  its  night, 
We  pray  with  all  our  feeble  might 
The  prayer  of  Ajax:  "Give  me  light!" 

But  when  the  morning  reappears, 
And  fades  as  earthly  mist  our  fears, 
The  prayer  for  light  He  seldom  hears, 
To  whom  our  laughter  and  our  tears 

Are  as  the  passing  of  a  dream. 
We  foolish  children  little  deem 
That  neither  darkness  nor  the  gleam 
To  Him  as  unto  us  doth  seem. 

Both  night  and  day  to  Him  are  one ; 
The  darkness  and  the  noon-day  sun, 
What  we  desire  and  what  we  shun 
With  equal  love  He  shines  upon. 

Could  we  but  trust  His  constant  care, 
This  world  would  be  all  bright  and  fair: 
"  Thy  will  be  done  "  would  be  our  prayer, 
"  In  Heaven,  on  earth,  and  everywhere !  " 


TI2 


THE  POET  TO  THE  YOUTH 

THOU  by  lingering  for  my  song, 
Dost  the  world  and  me  a  wrong. 
Never  yet  was  strain  so  sweet 
As  the  sound  of  willing  feet. 
Greater  than  all  hymns  of  praise — 
Better  than  melodious  lays- 
Is  the  labor,  strong  and  true, 
That  shall  build  the  world  anew. 
I  would  give  my  songs  away, 
For  the  new  world's  opening  day. 


113 


ONE 

ONE  blood  are  we; 
Therefore  One  Blood 
For  us  was  shed, 
That  as  we  still 
Are  of  a  single  race, 
We  might  become 
The  one  divine  creation 
Of  the  one  Creative  Love. 


114 


THE  EVENING  OF  THE  LORD'S  DAY 

AND  now  to  rest — the  sacred  day  is  o'er! 
O  Soul,  it  was  a  blessed  day  of  grace, 
Made  beautiful  with  holy  love  divine, 

And  with  the  shining  of  thy  Saviour's  face. 


COMRADESHIP 

DRIFTS  a  great  sorrow  like  a  lonely  cloud, 
Drives    hence    the    light,    and    darkens    all 

the  air; 

But  in  the  smile  of  one  true-hearted  friend, 
Revives  my  courage  and  dissolves  my  care. 

Your  helpful  hand,  good  comrade,  reach  me  now, 
Once  more  the  sound  of  your  glad  voice  I  hear : 

The  vision  clears,  my  strength  returns  again, 
And  rosy  morn  illumes  the  land  and  mere. 

One  trusted  friend  with  loyal  heart  and  free, 
I  hold  a  match  for  ruthless  time  and  fate; 

A  deathless  fellowship  of  comrade-souls, 

Is  nobler  wealth  than  this  poor  world's  estate. 


116 


TRUTH 

THERE  danger  dwells  where  dwells  not  Truth, 
Nor  gold,  nor  gems,  nor  rosy  youth, 
Shall  friendly  be,  when  she  hath  fled; 
The  soul  that  knows  her  not  is  dead. 


117 


AFTER  A  FRUITLESS  ARGUMENT 

WHY  of  the  truth  could  I  persuade  you  not? 
Because  you  surely  held  yourself  to  be 
Appointed  of  high  Heaven  my  soul  to  save, 
And  from  the  Wrath  Divine  to  set  me  free. 

So  hard  you  wrought  my  blinded  eyes  to  ope, 
You  had  no  vision  for  my  truth ;  and  lo ! 

In  vain  we  strove  with  loveless  words, 
A  dull  and  empty  creed  to  overthrow. 

At  length  we  only  fought,  nor  either  cared 
To  take  the  gift  that  each  had  power  to  give; 

We  could  not  see  how  worthless  is  the  faith 
That    cries,    "  Believe ! "    and    never    whispers 
"  Live !  " 

If  I  have  sinned,  my  brother,  hear  this  word 

Of  penitent  regret  and  kindly  trust: 
Let  there  be  peace  between  us  while  we  live, — 

The  same  blue  heavens  shall  bend  above  our 

dust. 
With  equal  vision  we  may  never  see, 

Nor  yet  the  same  cold  form  of  words  repeat; 
But  we,  where  words  and  vision  fail,  may  trust, 

And  in  a  kindly  life  our  hearts  may  meet. 


118 


COMMON  SENSE 

STRIVE   not   for   what   beyond   thine   utmost 
striving  lies, 
Nor    sigh    the    thing    that    must    forevermore 

remain ; 
Yield  not  to  trifles  that  obstruct  thine  onward 

way; 
From   lust   of  gold   and   knowledge   evermore 

refrain. 
Not  centered  in  thyself,  but  with  a  noble  love, 

Seek  thou  thy  daily  gladness  in  another's  joy. 
Thy   neighbor's   life   should   be   the   measure    of 

thine  own, 

For  only  universal  pleasures  never  cloy; 
One  homely  virtue  is  man's  ever-sure  defense, 
His    changeless    friend — its    name    is    COMMON 
SENSE. 


119 


I  REMEMBER 

ALMOST  I  loved  you, 
But  not  quite; 
And  now  I  do  remember 
Through  the  long,  dark  night, 
Stretching  far  behind  me, 
Like  the  restless  sea, 
Desolate,  lonely,  sobbing, 
On  the  dark  shores  of  long  ago — 
I  do  remember!     I  do  remember! 

Yes,  I  do  remember!     It  was  best! 

I  did  not  wholly  love  you, — 

I  only  thought  I  might  adore  you: 

Thought !     You  know  the  rest : 

You  too  remember 

(It  was  December) 

How,  when  the  hills  were  white, 

And  Winter  day  had  faded 

To  a  longer  Winter  night, 

We  quarrelled. 

'Twas  a  blessed  quarrel  that  gave  vision 

To  a  blind  and  wandering  heart. 

120 


I  Remember  121 

Ah  well !     Since  then  the  flowers  have  faded, 

And  have  bloomed  again  in  beauty  many  times; 

Now  return  the  snows  of  Winter, 

After  twenty  years  of  Winter  in  my  heart. 

I  am  dreaming,  dreaming,  dreaming 

Of  the  roses,  fragrant,  fair; 

Once  you  gayly  bound  them  in  your  golden  hair, 

While  I  shouted,  wild  with  laughter, 

"  Mea  rosa!     Mea  rosa!" 

Oh,  so  long — so  long  ago! 

Had  I  loved  you? 

Had  I ! — who  can  tell 

What  had  been  my  life  to  me 

Had  I  loved  you  well? 

I  did  not  love  you — that  was  all ! 

Only  still  I  must  remember 

The  lone  desolate  December, 

And  its  visions  like  pale  ghost-fires 

Dancing  in  the  midnight  sky. 


THE  GOLDEN  HOUR 

PR  every  blade  of  grass, 
Remains  a  drop  of  dew; 
For  every  opening  bud, 
Some  flower's  bright  hue. 

To  every  man  there  comes 
An  hour  of  glad  surprise ; 

A  ray  of  golden  light 

From  out  the  deep  blue  skies. 

Expect  that  hour  and  hope, 
Enjoy  that  hour  and  live; 

Its  memory  when  it  dies, 
A  sweeter  life  shall  give. 


122 


TRAGEDY 

OH,  the  tragedy  of  the  injustice  of  this  world, 
Yoked  to  willing  shoulders  of  good  men  1 
The  consent  of  mute  Indifference, 
To  shame  and  crime  that  baffle, 
With  a  keen  infernal  cunning, 
Unceasing  strife  and  brave  endeavor 
Of  all  earnest  hearts  and  true! 
The  death-cry  of  despairing  souls 
That  will  not  build  belief, 
Lest  on  the  shifting  sand  of  lies 
The  bright  house  of  life  be  founded! 
And  the  great  star-lighted  heavens 
Brooding  silent  over  all! 


123 


THE  DEATH  PENALTY 

THEY   err  who   think  to   silence   crime  with 
crime — 

The  axe,  the  scaffold,  and  the  block 
Make  brutal  all,  and  deeds  of  darkness  fell, 
Like  vultures,  round  the  gibbet  flock. 

The  hangman  makes  the  rogue  he  seeks  to  hang, 
And  "  life  for  life  "  is  murder's  rule. 

To  crime  repress,  destroy  the  gallows-tree, 
And  on  its  ruins  build  the  school 


124 


THE  HERO 

I  EARN  to  endure 
I    *     With  no  weak  cry 
The  thrusts  of  Fate; 
Forever  sure 
The  gods  are  nigh, 
With  hearts  elate, 
When  men  are  strong 
To  do  and  dare. 

Not  clinging  vine, 
But  towering  oak, 
The  gods  delight. 
Who  match  their  might 
With  might  divine, 
And  fear  no  ill 
That  Fate  can  do, 
The  gods  reward. 
The  dauntless  heart, 
Unyielding  will, 
And  vision  clear, 
New  life  impart, — 
New  joy  inspire; 
While  grief  and  fear 
Are  man's  defeat. 
125 


126  The  Hero 

Dry  every  tear, 
The  future  face; 
Let  no  disgrace 
Of  base  retreat, 
The  gods  enrage. 
Meet  every  foe 
With  blow  for  blow, 
And  e'en  the  gods 
Themselves  engage. 


LINES 

Written  after  reading  Salt's  "  The  Logic  of  Vegetarianism." 

NO  doubt  I  am  a  fool  to  eat 
Legs,  tails,  internal  things,  and  feet; 
For  he  who  makes  of  flesh  a  feast, 
Must  come  himself  to  be  a  beast. 

So  good  old  Henry  Salt  believes, 
He  'd  have  us  live  on  cabbage-leaves, 
Fruits,  nuts,  and  juicy  twigs,  and  bark, 
Whatever  grows  in  wood  or  park. 

Ah  me!     I  am  a  sinner  sure, 
With  lips  and  stomach  all  impure: 
I've  been  by  Christian  cooks  misled; 
Where  shall  I  hide  my  guilty  head? 

Come  gentle  browser  on  the  sod, 
Lead  my  poor  soul  to  peace  and  God; 
Henceforth  this  diet  shall  be  mine: 
Sweet  clover-head  and  dandelion. 

Yet  I  may  drink  a  glass  of  wine — 
Why  not?     It  is  the  fruit  of  vine: 
On  good  Kentucky  whiskey  too 
Old  Salt  has  placed  no  hard  taboo. 

127 


128  Lines 

Draw  near  and  light  the  evening  flame, 
Dear  Salt  be  thanked !  there  is  no  shame 
In  sweet  tobacco — 't  is  a  weed; 
It  cannot  suffer  pain  and  bleed. 

Havana  Twists  and  Henry  Clays 
Make  fragrant  all  our  nights  and  days. 
What  more  can  any  sinner  ask, 
Than  sweet  Perfectos  and  a  flask? 

No  more  at  Izaak  Walton's  feet, 
I  take  the  merry  angler's  seat; 
Unharmed  through  friendly  stream  and  sky, 
The  fish  may  swim,  the  birds  may  fly. 

Nor  gun  nor  hook  shall  bring  them  pain, 
The  Golden  Age  shall  come  again, — 
At  least,  so  far  as  I  'm  concerned. 
The  cruel  heart  that  in  me  burned, 

Has  heard  hypnotic  words  from  Salt, 
And  I  've  surrendered  flesh  for  malt; 
Yet,  on  the  whole,  the  truth  to  tell, 
I  like  the  change  in  diet  well. 


FORGIVENESS 

WHEN    man    goes    astray,    a    demon    from 
lowest  hell 

Comes  swiftly  forth  within  his  sinful  soul  to  dwell, 

But  when,  with  penitence  of  heart, 

The  tears  of  deep  contrition  start, 

They  drown  the  cruel  demon,  and  behold  he  dies ; 

And  Love  Divine  plants  sweet  forgiveness  where 

he  lies. 


129 


QUATRAINS 

HERE  AND  NOW 

'\V7HAT  is  a  ghost?  "  inquired  a  little  child 
W        I  gently  pressed  its  trembling  hand, 
And  softly  whispered,  "  You  behold  a  ghost, 
And  this  bright  world  is  spirit-land." 

PASSION 

Who  tastes  not  Passion's  burning  cup, 
The  wine  of  knowledge  never  drains; 

Like  childhood's  hours,  his  life  is  filled 
With  infant's  joys  and  infant's  pains. 

THE    USELESSNESS    OF    WRANGLING 

Men  may  argue,  discuss,  and  contend 
About  sects,  and  parties,  and  schools; 

But  a  touch  of  sweet  love  in  the  world, 
Makes  all  the  debaters  seem  fools. 

A    SELFISH    HEART 

How  oft  our  trembling  nerves  we  drug, 

Neglecting  the  disease; 
The  trouble  is  a  selfish  heart, 

That  loves  its  own  sweet  ease. 
130 


Quatrains  131 

FRIENDSHIP 

Love  burns  the  heart  with  ceaseless  flame, 
But  friendship,  like  the  summer  air, 

With  scent  of  flowers  from  wood  and  field, 
Breathes  gentle  fragrance  everywhere. 

CHOICE 

No  fate  compels  the  soul  of  man, 

To  sorrow  or  rejoice; 
There  is  no  fate  in  earth  or  heaven, 

But  that  of  man's  free  choice. 

YOUTH   AND   AGE 

"  Pleasure ! "     cries     Youth,     "  't  is     pleasure     I 
demand  ; 

With   eager  lip  the  crystal  cup   I   drain." 
Sighs  weary  Age,  "  I  do  remember  well, 

And  am  content  if  quiet  ease  remain." 

LIFE 

Inwoven   wreaths   of   mist 

From  the  sea,  blown 
To    islands    far    remote, 

And  lands  unknown. 

CHURCH  AND  STATE 

Behold  the  wedding  of  the  Church  and  State ! 

And  lo,  the  bitter  bridal  of  despair! 
The  one  doth  justice  barter  to  the  priest, 

With    gold    the    other    chokes    the    mouth    of 
Prayer. 


132  Quatrains 

THE    INNER    WORSHIP 

By  too  much  incense  the  idol  is  obscured, — 
The  pomp  of  worship  blinds  our  feeble  sight; 

The  heavenly  vision  waits  not  our  command, — 
The  heart  outweighs  all  holy  word  and  rite. 

UHOW    DO    CHERRIES    TASTE?" 

How  do  cherries  taste? 

I  cannot  tell ; 
But  the  children  know, 

And  birds  as  well. 

WHY? 

Why  should  you  die  before  you  die? 

Cross  bridges  e'er  you  reach  the  stream? 
If  life  be  as  men  say,  a  sleep, 

Sleep  on  sweet-heart,  and  dream  your  dream. 


AUF  WIEDERSEHEN 

AND  until  then,  brave  soul,  farewell; 
I  cannot  think  that  what  befell 
Thy  mortal  frame  must  be  the  end 
Of  thee,  my  best  beloved  friend. 
Yes,  we  shall  meet  again,  or  life 
Were  but  an  idle,  foolish  strife, 
And  death  were  what  we  most  should  prize. 
Both  summer  fields  and  winter  skies, 
Repeat  again : 

AUF    WIEDERSEHEN 


133 


TRANSLATIONS 


NOTE:  These  Translations  are,  with  a  single  exception 
("To  the  Husbandman"),  selected  from  Flowers  of  Song 
from  Many  Lands,  being  a  book  of  Translations  by  Dr. 
Marvin  published  in  the  year  1902. 


136 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  SPIRIT  OVER  THE 
WATERS 

Goethe 

r~T1HE  soul  of  man 

JL       Is  like  the  water; 
From  heaven  it  cometh, 
To  heaven  returneth — 
Ever  and  forever  changing. 

From  lofty  rocky  walls, 
Swift  leaps  the  glowing  flood; 
Then  in  the  valley  spreads  it  gently 
O'er  the  rocks  in  cloudy  billows, — 
Billows  ever  kindly  welcomed,— 
Veils  its  murmur  as  it  wanders 
Downward  to  the  waiting  deep. 


Cliffs  projecting 
Oft  oppose  it; 
Angry,   foaming, 
Downward  moves  it, 
Step  by  step. 


Now  in  smoother  channels 
Through  a  flowery  meadow  winds  it, 
Till,  within  the  lake  reflected, 
Gaze  entranced  the  constellations. 


138   Song  of  the  Spirit  Over  the  Waters 

Wind  is  the  loving 
Wooer  of  the  waters; 
Wind  together  blendeth 
The  all-foaming  billows. 

Soul  of  man, 

How  like  the  water 

Fate  of  man, 

How  like  the  wind! 


THE  BOUNDARIES  OF  HUMANITY 
Goethe 

WHEN  the  primeval  Father, 
Changeless  and  holy, 
Sows  in  His  bounty, 
With  free  hand  and  tranquil, 
From  the  rolling  clouds, 
Joy-diffusing  lightnings 
O'er  the  wide  earth, 
Then  the  last  hem  of  His  garment 
I  kiss  with  childlike  awe  and  devotion— 
My  heart  is  filled  with  His  homage. 

For  never  against  the  immortals 
May  a  mortal 
Measure  himself. 
If  heavenward  he  soar 
And  touch  with  his  forehead 
The  stars  in  their  courses, 
His  feet,  insecure, 
Shall  find  no  abiding; 
Clouds  and  tempest 
Shall  sport  with  his  weakness. 
139 


140       The  Boundaries  of  Humanity 

With  limbs  firm  and  sinewy, 
Let  him  stand  without  tremor 
Upon  the  green  earth  enduring; 
Content  to  resemble  the  oak  or  the  ivy. 

How  shall  we  distinguish 
The  gods  from  men? 
Before  them  the  billows, 
An  infinite  stream, 
Roll  onward  forever; 
Us  a  wave  raises, 
Us  a  wave  swallows, 
And  we  vanish. 

A  little  rounded  link 
Encircles  our  life; 
Yet  generations  of  mortals 
Weld  themselves  firmly 
To  the  unending  chain 
Of  human  existence. 


THE  MASON'S  LODGE 

Goethe 

THE  mason's  ways 
Are  a  symbol  of  life, 
And  his  toil 
Resembles  the  strife 
Of  man  on  earth. 

The  future  hides 
Gladness  and  sorrow; 
Stepwise  to  the  sight, 
Yet  undaunted, 
Ever  on  we  press. 

Heavy  and  heavier, 
With  reverence, 
Hangs  the  veil. 
Silent  above  rest  the  stars- 
Silent  below  the  graves! 

Consider  and  behold ; 
For,  lo !  there  rise, 
In  the  breasts  of  heroes, 
Ever-changing  awe 
And  earnest  feeling. 
141 


142  The  Mason's  Lodge 

From  yonder  call 

Voices  of  sages — 

Voices  of  masters: 

"  Delay  not  to  use 

The  heritage  of  the  good ! 

"  Here  are  a  weaving, 

In  silence  eternal, 

Crowns  that  with  fulness 

Shall  the  active  reward! 

We  command  thee  to  hope !  " 


TO  THE  HUSBANDMAN 
Goethe 

SOWN  are  the   golden   seeds   in   the   smooth 
furrow 

And  cover'd  from  view; 
Deeper  furrows  some  day  shall  thy  bones  conceal, 

And  under  one  blue 
Of  the  heavens  over-hanging,  the  ploughman 

Shall  gather  food  for  the  living: 
Hope  from  even  the  tomb  vanishes  never, 
New  life  the  furrows  are  giving. 


143 


THE  EAGLE  AND  THE  DOVE 
Goethe 

INTENT  on  prey,  an  eagle  spread 
His  pinions  wide  in  air; 
When  swift  the  huntsman's  arrow  flew, 
And  headlong  downward  to  a  myrtle  grove 
The  daring  voyager  of  the  sky 
Fell  panting,  filled  with  anguish  and  despair; 
And  when  three  days  and  nights  were  gone," 
Kind  Nature's  balm,  that  heals  all  hurts, 
His  fainting  strength  restored. 
The  bird  outstretched  his  wing; — 
Alas !  there  was  no  longer  power  for  flight — 
He  scarce  himself  could  raise 
From  off  the  hard,  unyielding  ground, 
To  seize  some  mean,  unworthy  prey. 
With  bursting  heart,  extended  on  a  rock, 
Hard  by  the  rushing  of  a  mountain  stream, 
Clear,  sweet,  and  pure 
As  are  the  blue  o'er-bending  heavens, 
With  tearful  eye  he  gazed  through  myrtle  boughs, 
To  where  two  doves  with  soft  and  gentle  flutter 

of  contented  wings 

Were  resting  from  their  humble  flight; 

144 


The  Eagle  and  the  Dove         145 

With  strut  and  nodding  head 

They  wandered  by  the  golden  sand  and  pebbly 
shore, 

Or  bathed  their  feet  within  the  silver  tide. 

How  full  their  red-tinged  eyes  with  love! 

How  low  and  musical  their  cooing  voice! 

They  paused — their  vision  fell 

Upon  the  stricken  sovereign  of  the  air, 

And,  moved  with  pity,  leaped  the  male, 

Complacent,  on  a  nearer  twig,  and  thus  discoursed : 

"  What  sorrow  fills  thy  breast  ?  What  grief  be 
dews  thine  eye? 

Take  comfort  and  good  cheer,  my  friend, 

For  in  this  forest  deep  all  rare  delights  are  found. 

Hast  thou  not  here  such  boundless  joy 

As  may  all  memories  of  the  sky  efface? 

Hast  thou  not  gladness  in  the  bending  bough 

That  fends  thee  from  the  sun's  meridian  heat? 

And  canst  thou  not  thy  breast  uplift 

Upon  the  fragrant  moss, 

And  mark  the  sun's  declining  ray? 

Here  mayst  thou  wander  through  a  world  of 
flowers, 

And  gather  food  from  shrub  and  bush  and  tree, 

Or  quench  thy  thirst  at  yonder  bubbling  spring. 

O  friend,  believe  me  this: 

'Tis  sweet  contentment  fills  the  world  with  bliss — 

Be  satisfied  with  that  thou  hast, 


146        The  Eagle  and  the  Dove 

And  everywhere  thou  hast  enough." 

Then  spake  the  eagle  as  he  sank  in  thought, 

"  O  wise  one !  " — and  he  pondered  what  his  ear 

had  heard, — 
"  O  wisdom !  thou  speakest  like  a  dove !  " 


HUMANITY 

Kinkel 

UNNUMBERED  years  the  hoary   earth 
Her  countless  nations  hath  enrolled, 
And  holocausts  to  gods  hath  raised 
From  blood-red  altars  manifold. 

And  years  to  come  the  raptured  saint 

To  God  shall  other  altars  rear, 
And  sorrow  still  shall  come  and  go, 

And  joy  the  human  heart  shall  cheer. 

It  blinds  me  not !  With  love  content, 
The  ceaseless  strife  of  Time  I  see; 

While  changing  empires  rise  and  fall, 
Still  onward  moves  Humanity. 

No  day  hath  ever  dawned,  I  know, 
That  gladdened  not  one  lonely  breast ; 

Nor  Spring  hath  followed  Winter  drear 
But  with  a  song  the  world  it  blessed. 

From  out  the  ruddy  wine,  I  know, 
The  vast,  creative  thoughts  arise; 

And  in  a  woman's  loving  kiss 
A  noble  fount  of  vigor  lies. 


148  Humanity 

Where'er  we  go,  the  heavens,  I  know, 
They  frown  with  rage,  or  smile  with  joy; 

In  every  zone  the  stars  serene 

Some  loving  eye  with  faith  employ. 

So  day  by  day,  and  night  by  night, 

One  thought  doth  every  heart  possess; 

Where'er  on  earth  mine  eyes  are  turned, 
A  brother's  loyal  hand  I  press. 

A  link  of  that  great  chain  which  binds 

The  future  to  the  past  am  I; 
From  out  the  struggling  surge  I  snatch 

The  jewel  of  Humanity. 


LILY  AND  ROSE 

Herder 

¥  ILY  of  white  innocence,  and  sweet  red  rose, 

J— j     Two  sisters  side  by  side — alike 

And  yet  how  different! 

O  flower  of  purity  and  honor's  crown, 

Thou  need'st  not  leaves  to  shield  thy  form; 

A  silent  virtue  wreath'd  in  fragrant  beauty 

Guards  thee  well. 

But  thou,  O  flower  of  passion,  red,  red  rose, 

Young  Cupid's  blood  thy  veins  distending, 

Thy  heart  so  oft  is  pierced  by  love 

Thou  needest  thorns  around  thee. 


149 


THE  PALM 

Heine 

DREAMS  on  the  lonely  height 
A  pine  tree  clad  in  snow; 
Around  it  icy  winds 

In  wild  confusion  blow: — 

Dreams  of  a  graceful  palm 
In  the  far  southern  land, 

In  silent  solitude, 

Mid  wastes  of  burning  sand. 


150 


FAITH 

Victor  Hugo 

BE  like  the  little  bird 
That  for  an  instant  stays 
Upon  the  topmost  bough : 

The  branch  beneath  him  sways, 
But  undisturbed  he  sings, 
All  conscious  of  his  wings. 


151 


THE  WHISTLING  DAUGHTER 

From  the  Dutch 

WHISTLE,  my  dearest  daughter,  and  I  will 
give  thee  a  cow. 

Ah   no!    my   beloved    mother,    I   cannot   whistle 
now — 

O  I  cannot  whistle, 
Ah  no!  my  mouth  it  puckers  so. 

Whistle,  my  charming  daughter,  and  I  will  give 

thee  a  horse. 
Mother,  I  never  whistled,  and  I  could  not  now 

of  course — 

O  I  cannot  whistle, 
Ah  no !  my  mouth  it  puckers  so. 

Whistle,  my  gentle  daughter,  and  I  will  give  thee 

a  sheep. 
Mother,  I  cannot  whistle,  so  the  creature  you  may 

keep — 

O  I  cannot  whistle, 
Ah  no !  my  mouth  it  puckers  so. 

Whistle,  my  lovely  daughter,  and  I  will  give  thee 

a  man. 
Mother,  I  never  whistled,  but  I  know  right  well 

I  can — 

Whistle!  whistle!  whistle! 
And  so  the  whistling  soon  began. 

152 


SONG  OF  THE  WANDERING  KNIGHT 

From  the  Spanish 

MY  ornaments  are  sword  and  spear, 
War  is  my  pleasure  near  and  far, 
My  bed  the  cold  green  turf  alone, 

My  quenchless  lamp  yon  trembling  star. 

Long  are  my  journeys  through  the  day, 
Brief  are  my  slumbers  in  the  night; 

Thy  spirit  haunts  me  as  I  go; 
I  kiss  thy  token  with  delight. 

From  land  to  land  I  swiftly  ride, 

And  ever  sail  from  sea  to  sea; 
And  trust,  fair  lady,  fate  some  day 

May  bid  these  knightly  lips  kiss  thee. 


153 


ON  MICHAEL  ANGELO'S  STATUE  OF 
NIGHT 

LINES    BY    GIOVANNI    STROZZI 

THOU    seest    the    sleeping    Night    in    grace 
reclining, 

An  angel  called  her  from  the  silent   stone; 
She  sleeps  and  therefore  lives;  if  doubt  there  be, 
Awake    her   now — She    speaks!    and    doubt    is 
flown. 

ANSWER    BY    MICHAEL    ANGELO 

'Tis  sweet  to  sleep,  but  better  far  in  stone, 
For  since,  unaltered,  loss  and  shame  remain, 

Unconscious  darkness  crowns  supreme  delight ; 
Speak  low,  I  pray  thee,  wake  me  not  to  pain. 


i54 


CHRISTMAS  CAROL 

From  the  Italian 

WHEN  Christ  in  Bethlehem  was  born, 
The  Winter  night  seemed  rosy  morn; 
So  bright  the  stars  men  thought  'twas  day — 
The  world  in  golden  beauty  lay; 
And  yet  one  star  in  splendor  there, 
Than  all  the  rest  more  heavenly  fair, 
The  Magi  to  the  manger  drew. 

Then  holy  peace  o'er  all  the  earth, 

Proclaimed  the  blessed  Saviour's  birth; 

Together  lamb  and  lion  fed; 

Calf,  wolf,  and  bear  were  gently  led 

By  little  children;  leopards  lay 

Beside  the  timid  kids  all  day; 

There,  fangless,  basked  the  serpents  too. 

As  shepherds  watched  their  flocks  by  night, 
Bright  angels  from  the  world  of  light, 
With  music  filled  the  trembling  air, 
And  God  himself  seemed  everywhere. 
"  Be  not  afraid,"  they  cried,  "  for  see! 
It  is  God's  holy  Jubilee, 
With  peace  on  earth,  good  will  to  you !  " 


i55 


TO  A  FALSE  LADY 

From  the  Italian 

WHEN  softly  gathered  twilight  o'er  the  silent 
air, 
And  out  from  darkness  rose  the  first  bright 

star, 

A  gentle  lady  came  my  solitude  to  share. 
I  seemed  to  know  her;  and  she  was  so  heav'nly 

fair 

That,  gazing,  I  was  hers;  and  near  or  far, 
To  honor  her,  I  followed  where  she  went:  and 

then — 

Ah  well !  I  only  pray :  "  God  give  thee,  when 
Thou  art  as  I  remain,  the  same  sad  plight 
With  which  thou  didst  unchanging  love  requite." 


156 


UNDER  A  WINGED  CUPID 

Greek  Anthology 

'HP  IS  vain  to  haste  when  Love  pursues, 

1       He  is  so  nimble  and  so  fleet; 
He  darts  like  lightning  through  the  air, 
For  he  has  wings, — thou,  only  feet. 


THE  PRAYER  OF  A  PERSIAN 

UNTO    the    sinful    evermore    Thy    boundless 
mercy  show, 
For  Thou  didst  blesjs  the  good,  O  Lord, 

when  Thou  didst  make  them  so. 


158 


RENUNCIATION 

From  the  Sanscrit 

WHAT  man  doth  once  with  all  his  heart 
renounce, 

By  that  no  more  he  suffers  pain; 
Anger  and  care,  desire  and  discontent, 
His  quiet  soul  assault  in  vain. 

He  who  hath  slain  the  pride  that  saith,   "  T  is 
mine," 

Nor  whispers,  "  I  am  thus  and  so," 
Doth  taste  the  deep  repose  Nirvana  brings, 

And  one  to  him  are  joy  and  woe. 


159 


THE  HOUSE  OF  GOD 

From  the  Persian 

PRONE  upon  the  earth,  in  prayer,  the  weary 
Nanac  fell, 

Filled  with  all  blessed  thoughts  of  God; 
Turned  toward  the  sacred  Mecca  were  his  dusty 

feet, 

And  rested  on  the  soft  green  sod. 
When,  lo!  there  passed  a  saintly  Moslem  priest 

that  way, 
And  cried,  "  Base  unbeliever,  dost  thou  dare  to 

pray, 
Thy  graceless  feet  extended  toward   God's   city 

fair?" 

But  Nanac  thus  made  answer,  "  Is  not  every 
where 
God's   city?    Find,   if  thou   canst,   the   accursed 

spot 

Where,  crowned  with  deathless  praise,  His  holy 
house  is  not!  " 


160 


THE  CHOICE  OF  FRIENDS 

Saadi 

ONE  balmy  day  in  gentle  June, 
While  sporting  in  my  bath  so  free, 
In  came  a  friend  with  perfumed  clay, 
And  gave  the  fragrant  mass  to  me. 

Art  thou  of  musk  or  ambergris? 

Thou  art  like  both :  I  cannot  tell 
Whence  comes  the  charm,  but  this  I  know, 

I  am  delighted  with  thy  smell. 

"  I  was  a  piece  of  worthless  clay 
Until  the  blooming  rose  I  knew; 

For  by  its  side  I  drank  delight, 

And  drank  its  heavenly  fragrance  too. 

"  But  for  that  rose  I  should  be  still 
Mere  worthless  clay  for  idle  ends; 

Learn  well  the  lesson  I  impart — 

Be  careful  in  your  choice  of  friends." 


161 


IMMORTAL  YOUTH 

Khushhal  Khan  of  the  Afghan  Tribe  of  Khattak 

MY  two-and-sixty  years  are  flown, 
Swift  years  of  sorrow  and  delight, 
And  now  my  hair,  no  longer  black, 
Is  turned  at  last  a  silvery  white; 
But  ah,  my  heart  still  young  remains, 
Unchanged  by  fortune  foul  or  fair; 
And  spite  of  frost  and  snow,  I  see 
The  golden  Summer  everywhere. 


162 


A  MOTHER'S  LAMENT  FOR  HER 
DROWNED  SON 

From  the  Greenlandic 

ALAS,  alas  thine  empty  seat,  my  son! 
Vainly  thy  garments  I  did  toil  to  dry. 
Thy  mother's  joy  is  clouded  o'er  with  grief, 
And  darkness  veils  the  lonely  sky. 

How  oft  I  watched  with  straining  eye  for  thee, 
And  saw  thee  rowing  swiftly  o'er  the  wave; 

Wiser  than  all  thy  race,  my  noble  boy, 
And  than  the  bravest  still  more  brave. 

Never  with  empty  hand  didst  thou  return, 

But  now  I  mourn  thine  empty  hand  and  place; 

Alas,  how  useless  seems  the  world  to  me, 
Since  I  no  more  behold  thy  face! 

Friends,  could  I  weep  as  ye  are  weeping  now, 
It  were  some  comfort  to  my  breaking  heart; 

The  fever  burns  my  brow,  my  sight  is  dim, 
The  anguish  is  too  deep  for  tears  to  start. 

Death,  death  alone  can  now  be  good  to  me ; 

Life  is  a  loathsome  thing,  and  I  would  go, 
Far,  far  away  from  Greenland's  rocky  coast, 

Its  icy  waves  and  fields  of  sparkling  snow. 
163 


164  A  Mother's  Lament  for  Drowned  Son 

Take  me,  sweet  Death,  to  thy  divine  embrace, 
Seal  with  deep  slumber  every  aching  sense; 

The  world  is  empty  and  the  stars  are  dust, 
They  hold  no  love  for  me.     I  would  go  hence. 


LIBRARY  USE 

TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 


LD  62A-30m-2,'69 
(J6534slO)9412A— A-32 


.General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


